The Apprentice and the Necromancer
by JunoMagic
Summary: Snape lives and marries Hermione.—MLC with a twist turns into AU-sequel of DH with new dangers, old secrets, and much more.—Virtual penny dreadful. Many short episodes with adventure, romance, a dash of hurt/comfort, and a sprinkling of horror.
1. Marriage Law

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

** juno-magic DOT fancrone DOT net/blog/junofanfic/hp-fanfic/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer  
**(or use the link on my profile page)**  
**

**oooOOOooo**

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of **Joanne K. Rowling** and **Garth Nix**. Any characters, settings, places from the Harry Potter books and movies used in this work are the property of Joanne K. Rowling, and Warner Brothers; any concepts, items and settings from the Abhorsen books used in this work are the property of Garth Nix. Original characters, settings and concepts belong to the author of this work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

All characters, places and events in this story are either the products of the relevant author's imagination or they are used entirely fictiously.

**oooOooo**

**Summary: **Hermione saves Snape's life in the Shrieking Shack. While he is still in coma at St. Mungo's, slowly recovering from his injuries, he's put on trial for his crimes. In spite of Harry's efforts to get him pardoned, Snape's freedom comes with a condition. He gets released on probation for three years. To prove his social rehabilitation, Snape needs to find a wife within these three years, or it's a life-sentence in Azkaban for him.

But finding a wife is not as easy as it used to be in the wizarding world. To prevent genetic defects resulting from constant inbreeding among purebloods, a marriage law has been passed. The wizarding genealogies have been bespelled so that only people with favourable combinations of genes will receive the permission to marry.

Harry and his friends decide to save Snape from Azkaban and to find him a wife. Naturally, things go very wrong and Hermione ends up being volunteered for the job.

Trying to win Snape's trust as his apprentice, Hermione discovers that there's more to Severus Snape than she ever knew. At her master's side, she gets sucked into a web of political and magical intrigue, nefarious plots and evil schemes. Muggle-born witches and wizards die, Necromancers are afoot, a wizarding portrait stops moving, the Deathly Hallows disappear and resurface again …

And in the middle of it all, Hermione falls head over heels, hopelessly and completely in love with Severus Snape.

**oooOooo**

**The story in fandom acronyms: **HP, AU, Post-DH, EWE, Snape!Lives, HG/SS, WIKTT MLC, X-over, H/C

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Marriage Law **

"A marriage law?" Harry crumpled the edge of the paper as he waved the Daily Prophet angrily around. "Don't they have anything better to do just now?"

It was six months after the last battle. The dead were buried, but there were still Death Eaters on the loose.

Hermione looked up from her plate, grateful for the distraction. Kreacher behaved as if he had to win a cooking competition at each meal, but she had less appetite than ever.

"Well, at some point things have to go back to normal," she said. _Normal. How could anything ever be normal again?_ she thought. "What do they say?"

"Something about squibs and _jea-ns_ and precautions and bloodlines," Ron mumbled around his toast.

Hermione turned to the third of the trio and frowned. "How do _you_ know about that? Since when do you read?"

Ron had the grace to blush. He swallowed convulsively, then cleared his throat. "I don't actually. I overheard mum talking about it."

"Give me that, Harry," Hermione demanded. "I bet it wasn't _'jeans'_ you heard mentioned, but _'genes'_."

Harry rolled his eyes, but handed over the paper. Hermione pushed her chair back from the table, and disappeared behind the paper until only the top of her head, a wisp of bushy brown curls remained visible. After a few minutes she put down the paper, shaking her head in a bemused manner.

"You know, this actually makes a lot of sense," she said at last. "The Ministry must be losing its touch."

"What?" Harry stared at her. "What's sensible about coming up with a marriage law when there are still Death Eaters running around?"

"So what are those _jeans_?" Ron asked.

"Well – basically it's a law against inbreeding. Just think of that tapestry," she waved her hand towards the door and the rest of the house, "and how everyone among the pure-blooded families is related to everyone else. Magical ability is tied to our genes, Ronald. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've told you about them before. How a baby gets red hair? Remember? Information encoded in the cells of our body?"

Ron ducked, wincing.

Ashamed, Hermione bit down on her lip. She really shouldn't get that impatient with him. She knew how frayed her friend's nerves still were. But did he never really listen to her? Did he never remember a single thing she told him?

"Anyway, inbreeding is bad for the genes. If you have a tiny, stagnant gene pool, the risk of 'bad' genes 'meeting' and combining unfavourably is much higher than in an open society. Basically, if purebloods kept on marrying purebloods and got no new genes from outside, you might end up with a bunch of crazy squibs when all is said and done. The Ministry has bespelled the genealogies of all wizards and witches so that only those persons may marry and procreate –" She did not even sigh at Ron's clueless look. "– _have babies_, that is, who won't be mixing up bad genes. Basically, they want to prevent Draco from marrying his sister and producing another generation of lunatics."

"But Draco doesn't have a sister," Harry said, widening his eyes innocently.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. At least he'd understood her.

"So you see, Harry," she went on, "this law actually _has _something to do with – with clearing up the situation – some – some more."

Ron rubbed his nose thoughtfully, finally wrapping his mind around Hermione's explanation. "And how exactly are they going to do that? That law-thingy?"

"Well, if you want to marry, you have to apply to the wizarding genealogy offices. They take blood samples of your blood and your prospective wife's and run tests, comparing them to the combined bloodlines of the wizarding world. If they come up clean, you may marry and have babies. If not, you won't get a licence. And –" Hermione snorted, "if you try to have illegal unprotected intercourse, the men won't be able to function."

Both Harry and Ron went pale. Their hands jerked. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch with amusement. If she hadn't been there, they'd have probably touched their bits just to make sure they were still attached to them. Men! Really. Thinking always of one thing and one thing only.

"So what else is new?" she asked, picking up the paper again.

"Snape's trial is about to begin," Ron muttered.

"What?" Harry and Hermione shouted together. Ron flinched again, paling slightly.

"I – I heard – someone at the Ministry talk about it yesterday, when I went there for the Wizard Wheezes files ..."

Ron didn't read anymore than he used to, but he was getting better at listening to people. _With one notable exception, _Hermione contemplated.

"But." Harry's voice sounded strained. "He's not well enough for a trial. What the hell are they thinking?"

Snape was still in St. Mungo's, Isolation Ward. Hovering on the brink of death for weeks, the healers still were not sure if he would ever be able to talk again or what other permanent damages the snake venom had inflicted on his body. Additionally, the memories he had given Harry hadn't been extracted with the normal spell, and could probably not be restored.

That Snape was alive at all was mainly due to Hermione's quick reaction. She shuddered, thinking back to those hectic minutes, when she'd somehow managed to get the blood flow staunched with magic and then had kept him breathing and his heart beating, using Muggle First Aid. She'd ended up in St Mungo's for two weeks herself, just from coming into contact with his poisoned blood.

"He won't even be able to defend himself," Hermione whispered, horrified.

Harry's green eyes flashed dangerously. Snape had always been a touchy subject with him. But since Snape's continued loyalty had been revealed, guilt and shame had been added to the already volatile mix of Harry's attitude towards the Potions Master.

"Then WE will have to defend him," Harry announced.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Every chapter will have exactly 1,000 words as counted by MS Word. On purpose. Really. **Why? Mainly because of practical reasons – I don't really have the time to be writing fanfic at all at the moment (yes, you _may_ take a look at the number of chapters and laugh now), so this is a way of keeping me from going overboard. Additionally, the method of writing this story in "mega-drabbles" provides a great opportunity to hone my self-editing skills. If you're a writer, try it sometime!

**Warning:** "Apprentice" is not great literature or even great fanfic, it's not even betaed and not likely to _ever_ get proof-read. It's a wild ride, just for fun. Which is probably the best and the worst that can be said about it.

**Thanks:** Many thanks to **Leany** (fellow lawyer and HP-fan) who helped me brainstorm to come up with a plausible legal background for this challenge, and to **Aranel**, who doesn't like the good 'ship of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape at all, and _still_ provides invaluable support all the time (reading over passages, helping with research, listening to me whining and plotting and rejoicing - a true friend!).

**Comments and concrit, questions and suggestions:** are always welcome. Just one thing: If you want me to _reply_ to your comments, make sure that your comments are signed or that you provide your e-mail address.


	2. Evidence

**Evidence **

The lights went on again. Hermione sat dazed, tears streaming down her face. Next to her, Ginny shuddered. The room around them remained strangely silent, apart from an occasional sigh or sniffle.

Harry Potter, chief witness of the defence, was white as a sheet as he stared at the silver screen, where moments ago the memories he had received from Snape had replayed like a Hollywood movie, for all the world to see.

"That – that will be all for today, Mr. Potter," the Head of the Wizengamot said at last. "We will continue tomorrow morning at 9 am, with the witness Hermione Granger."

Harry, his mouth set in tight lines, nodded in silence.

"All rise," the court scribe intoned.

Hermione staggered to her feet as the members of the wizengamot swirled out of the room in flying robes.

Together with Ginny and Ron she squeezed herself through the crowd towards where Harry was waiting for them, ignoring interview requests and questions shouted at him from outside the room. At least they hadn't allowed the press to watch the Memories. He looked shaky.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, her voice warm with worry.

He shook his head and glared at her. The _Veritaserum_ would wear off only within the next two hours or so.

"Oops, sorry." Ginny blushed in a deep red colour that clashed unfavourably with her hair. "We're allowed to take the other exit again, so we can escape the reporters."

Harry gave a sigh of relief, but remained silent. It was obvious that he didn't intend to say a word in public until he was sure of exactly what would come out.

"Let's go," Ron said, leading the way to the back of the room.

Behind them, the court's watch-wizards stepped in the way of the reporters crowded outside the room. The dusty corridor they took ended in the backyard of a dingy little pub somewhere in the outskirts of London. Guarded and warded, it was a secure place for the chief-witnesses of the 'Trial of the Century' to Apparate home to Grimmauld Place without being seen.

Once back, they headed for the library, where they collapsed wearily on the faded sofa and armchairs.

But before anyone of them had the chance to say something, a resounding CRACK made them jump. A wrinkled, worried smile was turned worshipfully up towards Harry.

"Master need anything?"

"Yes, I need –" "Stop!" Ginny cried. "Kreacher, something to drink and some crackers would be lovely, right?"

Harry nodded, mumbling something unintelligible behind his hand.

Luckily Kreacher didn't understand his master and bowed happily, before he disappeared again. A minute later a pitcher of pumpkin juice along with some wheat crackers sat on the low table in front of them.

"I hate _Veritaserum_," Harry said at last. "I wish this was over already."

"Not for a while yet, mate," Ron said glumly. "Though I think today should make a real difference, unless they've all been hit by one bludger too many."

Hermione swallowed hard, but the tight lump in her throat wouldn't budge. "They don't look as if they're spending a lot of time on Quidditch fields."

Then she hid her face in her hands. "He'll hate that. Oh, Harry, do you have any idea how much he'll hate what you did today?"

The fact that Harry didn't reply, but pressed his lips together even more tightly, was answer enough.

"But if that will keep him out of Azkaban," Ginny said, "surely that will be worth it."

"_If_ it will keep the git out of there." Ron leaned back in his chair. Harry glared at him, but there hadn't been any real animosity in what his friend had said, so he let it go.

Hermione sighed and forced herself to look up again, watching Harry's pale-faced determination, Ginny's worried frown, Ron's tired slump.

_Six months,_ she thought, _and we still look as if we've just been chewed up by the Giant Squid and spewed out again._

"The evidence is very convincing," Ginny said at last, trying to sound confident. "They've questioned everyone. _Twice._ They even brought Dumbledore's portrait from Hogwarts. And today ... I just don't see how anyone could condemn him after what we've seen today."

They fell silent again. Unfortunately all of them were aware of the volatile currents of public opinion at the moment.

"I really hope so, Ginny," Harry replied at last, speaking very slowly. He'd be honest with them _Veritaserum_ or not, but he hated having no control over what he was going to say. "But I'm scared. He DID do a lot of bad things. Because he HAD to, of course. But still."

"Yeah," added Ron, surprising Hermione with a sudden bout of perceptiveness: "A dead hero's so much easier to deal with than a living traitor."

_"Proditio plerumque amatur, proditor odio habetur,"_ Hermione quoted. "We love treason, but we hate the traitor."

Irritated at Ron's confused expression, she added, "Plutarch. An Ancient Greek historian and spell-wright. Seriously, Ron –"

_"... don't you read?"_ chorused Harry and Ginny.

"You know I don't read, Hermione," Ron spat suddenly. "Why do you keep asking?" With a furious glare he stalked out of the room.

Hermione rubbed her forehead, blinking back tears. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Ginny agreed.

"I'm just so tired, you know, and he never listens, and I'm so scared of tomorrow. Why ever do they want to talk to me?" Hermione wailed.

"You're one of the Golden Trio," Ginny said sensibly. "He's been your teacher for six years. And ... well, you saved his life. So naturally they want to talk to you."

Ginny was right, of course.

"I'd better go and apologise to Ron," she said at last.

**oooOooo **

"One of these days they won't be able to patch things up between them," Harry commented. With only Ginny around it was easier to just tell the truth.

"I know," Ginny said. "But I don't think there's anything we can do about it."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	3. A Connection

**A Connection **

"And then?"

"I was transported to St. Mungo's where I received treatment."

"For what?"

"The venom of the snake that I came in contact with, because of ... Professor Snape's blood."

Her hands had been smeared with his blood. Her clothes had been drenched with his blood. And because she had done mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, she had actually swallowed some of the blood and the venom.

The following two weeks at St. Mungo's had not been pleasant. In retrospect she was almost grateful, though, because that way she had escaped most of the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. Including the burials and the victory celebrations.

"How is he now?"

She stared at her interrogator. Why was he asking _her_ that?

"Alive," she said. "Still at St. Mungo's. You'd have to ask his healer for details. Muriel Mugwort."

_Still not awake,_ she could have said and almost would have. She managed to bite her tongue at the last possible moment. Thankfully Harry had warned her about that urge to talk that was a side effect of _Veritaserum_. _Still deathly pale. Still no change. We don't know if he'll ever speak again. We don't know how to give him back his memories IF he wakes. We ..._

"Oh. Yes. Well. Thank you, Miss Granger, that will be all for now."

She managed to nod and to refrain from saying anything else, although there was so much she wanted to say. About how he'd always tried to protect them, even against themselves. It was so strange how some events appeared so different to her now, looking back. But it wasn't her place to say all those things. This was a trial, and not a SPEW campaign. They'd hired the best lawyers money could buy, both from the wizarding and the Muggle world. And there was no point in hiring experts if you didn't let them do their work. So she kept silent.

Once they were outside, and ready to Apparate, she realized that she couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place right away. "Look, guys – how about you go ahead? I'll see you there later. I just ... I have to –" She bit her lip, when the truth wanted to spill out of her: _I need to go and see him. I need to go make sure he's really alive, that he's still there._

"Of course," Harry said. "We understand."

Ginny nodded. But Ron looked at her with his almost customary confusion.

Before she could say anything unfortunate she concentrated on the Apparition platform of St. Mungo's and vanished.

**oooOooo **

Healer Mugwort, a squat woman with sharp eyes and a calm demeanour greeted her, as she entered the floor of the Isolation Ward.

"Miss Granger. It's been a while."

Hermione nodded. "The lawyers advised us to stay away for the duration of the trial."

"So today was the last day?"

"I sincerely hope so," Hermione replied.

"You do look pretty wrung out."

"Trust me, I feel even worse than I look," Hermione said with a frankness that made the healer raise her eyebrows in surprise. _"Veritaserum,"_ Hermione added. "I came here directly from the Wizengamot."

"Ah, of course." The healer gave her a comforting smile. "Then I guess I'd better not offer you some Pepper-Up-Potion."

Hermione snorted at the joke. Pepper-Up-Potion didn't mix well with _Veritaserum_ – unless you wanted to speak the truth and nothing but the truth for the rest of your life. "I think I'm generally an honest person, but that would be taking things a bit far. – How is he?"

"Better," the healer said at once. "But still not awake. However, the latest readings show that his blood is completely clean now, his kidneys are working again. He'll have to watch his diet for the rest of his life, but he will _have_ a rest of his life to do so."

"That's good. Or it will be if they don't put him into Azkaban for that rest of his life." Hermione trusted the healer, and she was simply too tired to watch her tongue right now.

"It would be horrible to have saved him from certain death for a life-sentence in Azkaban," Mugwort said.

"Horrible doesn't even begin to cover it," Hermione said. "I couldn't – how could I live with myself if I ended up saving him for a living death?" Despair choked her. "I had no idea what I was _doing _when I saved him. And the Memories – they replayed the Memories he gave Harry – they made Harry put them into a pensieve and then projected them on screen – Snape wanted to die, you know? He wanted his life to be over. He never _intended_ to survive the last battle. And then _I _come along, the Gryffindor Know-It-All, and I remember Muggle First Aid of all things and I save him. What am I going to do if all I saved him for was Azkaban?"

"I am sure it won't come to that. I've been following the trial in the Prophet and the Quibbler, and I think the prospects are quite good. Especially with the new line of the Ministry. They don't want to end up looking not much better than those Death Eaters and their pureblood propaganda concerning what should be done to blood-traitors. Why don't you sit down a bit with me and drink a cup of soothing tea? I think our patient is aware of his surroundings again, at least up to some measure, and I don't think it would be a good idea if he were to pick up on how upset you are."

Hermione swallowed her tears and sank down on the offered chair. "Of course. But I just had to come, do you understand? I needed to make sure he's still there, that he's getting better, that –"

"Of course I understand. You saved his life. And he in turn saved all of your lives at one point or another. You can't get a much closer connection between two persons than that in the wizarding world."

**oooOooo**


	4. Sentence

**Sentence **

"They can't be serious," Hermione said.

"I'm afraid they are," Arthur Weasley said.

The whole Weasley family plus assorted Order members and friends had gathered at the Burrow. Somehow kitchen and kitchen table had been enlarged so that all of them had found a place around the table. Everyone had a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of them. And boy, how they needed that chocolate.

In the middle of the table lay the special edition of the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler. The headlines: "Sentence in Trial of the Century" and "Ex-Death Eater must marry".

The Wizengamot – those craven cowards – had deferred the sentencing to an impartial magical judge, the Chalice of Neith.

Tonight the bloody Chalice had spewed forth its sentence.

As sentences in the wizarding world went, it was pretty straightforward. It pronounced Snape both guilty and not-guilty. Guilty of killing Albus Dumbledore, but not guilty of murdering him. Guilty of betraying the wizarding world, of committing various crimes during the first rising of He-Who-Finally-Was-Nothing-But-Dust, but awarded extenuating circumstances during the second rising.

In the end he was set free on probation.

Which was all well and good, apart from the conditions of said probation.

To prove himself a good and harmless member of the wizarding community Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, ex-spy, ex-Professor, ex-headmaster, had to marry within three years after this sentence was pronounced or spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

"I – I think none of us really expected that he would be freed of all charges," Minerva McGonagall stated at last.

"But we hoped for it," Poppy Pomfrey said sadly.

"What the FUCK of a condition is that anyway?" asked Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Could-Use-Cusswords-Without-Being-Scolded.

"One that's guaranteed to get him locked up in Azkaban until he's carried out of there," observed George Weasley bitterly.

"And where's Shacklebolt?" Hestia Jones piped up.

Arthur Weasley sighed. "The Minister sends his regrets, but –"

"BLOODY fucking hell, he's already betraying the Order?" Harry's eyes flashed bloody murder.

"Harry!" Molly Weasley couldn't bite her tongue any longer.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley. But I just can't believe it. We have to thank Snape that all of us are alive and sitting here with our hot chocolate today, and not only the Minister let a FUCKING chalice sentence him to life-long imprisonment, but he doesn't even have the guts to TELL us how this came about! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT FUCKING WIZENGAMOT THERE FOR? WHY DID I HAVE TO DRINK ALL THAT SHITTY VERITASERUM AND PARADE SNAPE'S MEMORIES FOR THE WORLD TO SEE IF THAT IS THE RESULT?"

Hermione and Ron winced at Harry's outburst.

"You have to understand, Harry, the Wizengamot – the Minister – they wanted a completely impartial sentence," explained Arthur Weasley. "And the Chalice, it was fed with all the recent changes in law before they put the request for judgement in there, so it was up-to-date with the current values of wizarding society. And – I think Hermione will know more about this than all of us thrown together – there is this idea, which the Muggles regard as very humanitarian, and I think that is what this condition is based on. It's called _'rebalitation'_."

Hermione moaned and sank down on the table. With a muted smack she knocked her forehead against the table. Once, twice, three times.

"Hermione?" Arthur Weasley's face showed uncertainty and worry.

"It's called _'rehabilitation'_. And it has NOTHING to do with marriage. AT ALL."

**oooOooo **

"What can we do?" Ron asked.

Luna turned her huge eyes towards him and smiled beatifically. "We need to find him a wife."

"He's not even AWAKE," Harry spit out. "He's barely alive. The last thing he needs is a wife. What have they been thinking in that Ministry of Misfits? No, wait – I mustn't suppose that they _are_ thinking. Past evidence rather refutes that they CAN."

The younger Order members had retired into the garden, as far away from the older Order members as possible. A _Muffliato_ screen flickered with blue and silver lights around them, keeping their discussion private.

Hermione hadn't said anything yet, but Ron was aware that she was close to tears, and had been, ever since she had read about the sentence, up in the privacy of his room.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

She raised her head and stared at him, her eyes red, dark smudges of exhaustion underneath them, tears shimmering in the candlelight.

For a while she simply stared at him wordlessly. Then she rasped out, "WHAT THE FUCK do you think I am? NO, I'm not okay. How could I be? I saved his life, or whatever there's left of it. I spent two weeks in St. Mungo's, puking blood. And for what? Just to hear that a stupid Chalice is going to send him back to Azkaban for the rest of his life? How do you think I could be OKAY with that?"

He winced and shrank back, but kept his arm around her. Moments later, Hermione sank down on the table, her shoulders shaking, her tears flowing. He pulled her into his arms and held her. Everything he could say would be wrong, had always been wrong. But at least he could hold her.

"So what do we do now?" he asked after a while.

The garden of the Burrow was silent apart from the muffled sobs of Hermione.

"Simple," Luna repeated. "We have to find him a wife. With those new marriage laws in place, we'll need to make sure she's a witch he can marry_ legally_. Somehow we have to get the information about his possible matches from the Wizarding Genealogy Offices. Then we have find the lucky witch and persuade her to marry him."

"And what if he says no?" Hermione asked, sniffling noisily. "And what if _she_ says no?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Neville said. "And besides, we helped defeat Voldemort. Getting Snape married to keep him out of Azkaban should be child's play compared to that."

**oooOooo**


	5. Stratagems and Subterfuges

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Stratagems and Subterfuges **

"So how are we going to go about that Genealogy stuff?" Ron asked.

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. Then she rubbed her aching forehead for good measure and to little effect. "I have really no idea. I doubt that the wizards at those offices are allowed to discuss possible candidates with just anyone. After all this is a very private matter. Someone from the Ministry would probably be able to get them do a one-sided search ... but if Harry showed up there, all we'd get would be another headline in the Quibbler."

Ginny laughed. "And I can just imagine what kind of headline THAT would be. _'The-Boy-Who-Wants-To-Marry?!'_"

Harry scowled at Ginny, who suddenly blushed a deep fiery red.

Ron looked from his sister to his best friend and only shook his head. "I can only say that you'd better show up at those offices in time, or I won't guarantee for Mum's actions."

"Or my own," he muttered. Since the war was over, the Weasleys had become even more protective of one another than they had been before.

"Hrmph," Harry said. "Doesn't anyone have any idea? Hermione? You're supposed to be the smart one among us."

Luna looked up from her croissant. She had enchanted the crumbs so they'd drift in single file serpentines up to her mouth. So far the blond Ravenclaw had followed the discussions of their breakfast meeting in quiet rapture. Now her gaze drifted over Hermione and Ron, but she didn't say anything, just smiled to herself. If something was quite obvious to _her_, she usually attempted to let her friends figure things out for themselves.

Hermione caught her look at just the right moment.

And groaned.

She pushed the untouched plate away from her and buried her face in her arms. She seemed to be doing that rather often lately. How she longed to be back at Hogwarts. How she wanted things to go back to _normal_. But when had anything ever been normal in her life? An evil wizard on a crusade to kill her best friend and enslave her world had been the biggest factor of what had constituted normalcy for her during the last years. And _that_ wasn't really very normal at all.

"I must go," she mumbled.

"WHAT?" Ron's voice soared into disbelieving heights.

Wearily she raised her head, in time to catch Luna's approving smile. "It's quite simple, really. I have to go and pretend that I want to marry him. Then they will have to do their tests and give me the results. And since it's been all over the place that I saved him, no one will doubt me. Life debt and all. They already think I'm completely barmy, it can't get any worse."

Neville gulped audibly into his mug of cocoa. "Can, too."

He put the mug down. "Once Snape finds out."

Ron just gaped at her, rendered unable to even produce a screaming fit.

Hermione slumped down once more, hiding her bushy head all over again. Denial suddenly seemed such a tempting strategy.

**oooOooo **

But she was a Gryffindor for a reason. And she felt fairly sure that Healer Mugwort would help her. If Snape was still unconscious.

For the first time in months she was hoping that there had been no improvement overnight when she entered St. Mungo's.

"Good morning, Healer Mugwort." She knew her hands were cold, and she'd had to vanish a clamminess that would have indicated clearly just how nervous she was.

But Muriel Mugwort had read the latest news, too, of course, and smiled at her full of sympathy. "Somehow I knew you would show up today. A cup of tea, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, please. I take it there are no changes?"

Muriel shook her head. "I'm sorry, no. It will take a few days yet, I'm afraid."

When they sat in the healer's chamber with steaming cups of lemon balm and lime tea, their conversation quickly turned to the trial and the sentence.

"Now, that is a really strange sentence, isn't it? And I've never heard of the Chalice of Neith being used for sentencing anyone."

"It's an ancient artefact. I suppose the opportunity to use it hasn't come up in the last thousand years."

"Why so bleak, Miss Granger?" Mugwort asked. "He's free. And once he's married and settled down, I'm sure he'll have a good life."

"But ..." Hermione halted, when she realised that saying _'Who'd ever marry him?'_ wasn't exactly a polite comment.

"It will probably not be easy for him to find someone," the healer admitted. "But I dare say not impossible. And he does have three years to ensnare a willing witch."

Hermione drew a deep breath and hoped that her expression wouldn't give her away. "As a matter of fact, there might BE a willing witch."

Mugwort raised a pair of bristling eyebrows. With her round glasses the older woman now looked almost like a Little Owl.

"Well." Hermione nervously rubbed her hands together. "I do care about him, you know?"

The healer's face softened. "But of course you do. You saved his life."

Hermione nodded. That much was undeniably true. "I ... you – concerning this matter – I have a favour to ask."

"Yes?" The frown was back.

"You see, I don't think he likes me. But, as you said, I really do care about him. A lot. So I was wondering, what with those new marriage laws, would it maybe be possible to find out – now – if – if my caring about him has any future at all? Because, as I don't know if he could ever like me, and if there's no legal future for us no matter if he'd ever ..." She trailed off and cast a pleading look at the healer.

Mugwort sighed. "That sentence and those new laws really take the romance out of courtship, don't they?" But then she gave Hermione an encouraging smile. "I _do_ understand. I think you need a blood sample, is that right?"

**oooOooo**


	6. Wizarding Statistics

**Wizarding Statistics **

Hermione sat and waited in a private room at the Wizarding Genealogy Offices. She folded and unfolded her fingers for the thousandth time. She felt like pacing, but that would only make her more nervous. Being alone made it worse. But it had been good that they'd been so cautious, having her go alone, dressing her up in Hestia Jones' old gown and casting a distracting glamour over her.

Reporters seemed to be lurking everywhere these days. Just yesterday the Weasleys had discovered an American journalist skulking around the Burrow. He'd been exposed when one of the Weasley gnomes had landed on his head during Ron's latest de-gnoming session and the disgruntled gnome had latched onto the unfortunate reporter's nose. When Hermione had entered the Genealogy Offices, she was sure she'd counted at least five reporters lurking in the background.

_What if the tests said that she'd be able to marry Snape? _

She winced. _Of course_ the tests would say that she could marry Snape. She was of Muggle origin, so the likelihood that there was _any_ wizard out there who'd be barred from marrying her because of the new laws was virtually non-existent. And Snape himself was half-blood. As far as Hermione knew, the Prince family did not belong to the ancient pureblood lineages.

So chances were that he had any number of likely witches to choose from. She didn't know what she'd prefer ... having a few hundred candidates to check out in order to persuade one to marry the Potions Master or be stuck with only a handful.

_The chosen few_ – she snorted at the thought. No, she'd always been good at Arithmancy, and she'd kept up with Muggle maths during her holidays. There was no way, really, that Snape could end up with just a few of possible matches.

Suddenly the door opened. A stern, blond witch with narrow, black rimmed spectacles gazed down at her. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes?" Hermione jumped up, feeling just a little jittery.

"I have the results for the tests you brought in. Would you come with me, please?"

Hermione swallowed dryly and nodded.

The office she was led to was small and busy. The wall at the back of the room was covered in convoluted, continually shifting family trees. Stacks of parchment, some more than a foot high, piled up on the desk.

"Please have a seat. Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"

_Why would she need something stronger?_ "Nothing, thanks. I'm fine."

"Well, Miss Granger." Suddenly the Genealogy witch beamed at her. "Your case is really quite extraordinary. I wonder if you'd consider allowing us to run an in-depth arithmantic analysis. I've never seen something like that before."

"Something like what?" Hermione felt sick. Did the witch mean to say that Snape didn't have any – no, she certainly wouldn't smile in that case. Or would she? If she had to endure his potions lessons at Hogwarts?

The smile of the witch didn't fit her stern glasses at all. "For Severus Snape our tests come up with only _one_ legal match. It's a statistical anomaly. Very fascinating. We've never had an anomaly before. You see, considering that you are Muggle-born, and he is half and half, ordinary Arithmancy suggests that both of you would have any number of possible legal matches. And well, _you_ do, of course. But your fiancé doesn't. There is only one legal option for him to get married. It's really quite astounding."

"One legal – _one?_ But there is – and – wh- who is, who –" Hermione gasped for breath, her nerves fraying. "Whoisthatwitch?" she finally managed.

The Genealogy witch beamed even brighter than before. "That's what is the most amazing thing about this case! _You_ are, my dear. You are the only witch that Severus Snape can legally marry according to the new marriage laws."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. Her heartbeat hesitated, then started a wild gallop. Shivering, her hands curled around the arm-rests of her chair.

"I am?" she whispered.

"Yes, you are! And isn't that wonderful? That is certainly the most romantic love story I have ever heard." The bony face of the witch softened into a silly sentimentality. "You save his life during the war. You fall in love. And now your love saves his life all over again."

She sighed happily, oblivious to the fact that Hermione was still gaping at her in shock.

**oooOooo **

"That's impossible," Ron stated in a calm voice. "That can't possibly be true."

Hermione winced. She could cope with Ron when he was raging and screaming and being completely unreasonable. A quiet, reserved Ron was really bad news.

Harry was bent over the sealed parchment Hermione had tossed on the low table. When he looked up, he was very pale. The ragged scar on his forehead stood out eerily.

"I'm afraid it _is_ true," he said at last. "That document is valid. Sealed and all."

Hermione sighed deeply. "And wizarding statistics don't lie. Not when the ink has been mixed with _Veritaserum_."

Harry slumped down on his chair, weary and defeated. "_Oh God._ There's really nothing left we can do, is there?"

Ron still stared at Hermione. His blue eyes went dark with pain.

She swallowed hard, not wanting to see herself reflected in those eyes, not wanting to see his pain, not wanting to see that now, NOW of all times Ronald Weasley suddenly understood her, _really_ understood her, and knew what she would do, almost before she knew it herself. She knew what she had to say. She tried to think of SPEW, of defeating Voldemort, of saving Snape, and all she could think of was Ron.

She swallowed again. Then she raised her head and met Ron's gaze. He didn't flinch, didn't rage, just met her eyes, his expression full of grief and regret.

"Of course there's something left we can do." She heard her voice as if it was coming from far away. "It's really quite simple, Harry. We have to convince Snape to marry me."

**oooOooo**


	7. A Plan

**A Plan **

"We need a plan," Harry stated.

Hermione stared at him. A plan to keep Snape out of Azkaban. A plan to convince Snape of all people to marry her ... _wait a moment, Harry had suggested that they need a what? _

"A plan, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, Hermione. Contrary to what you may believe I _am_ capable of imagining this concept." He hesitated, then attempted a grin. "I figure that keeping someone alive might be a _bit_ more difficult than trying to – to kill someone."

He swallowed hard.

"A plan sounds good," Ginny commented, breaking the awkward silence.

"A brilliant plan would be better." Neville sounded scared.

Luna, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, smiled to herself. As far as Hermione could tell, everything was proceeding according to the master plan her Ravenclaw friend had already devised in the strange and wonderful corners of her mind.

Ron was standing at the window, staring into the rain. She tried not to look at him. Somehow she forced her mind back to the matter at hand.

"Healer Mugwort said that he'll wake up any day now. She thinks that he'll need another three weeks or so at St. Mungo's because he's been out of it for so long. But then they'll send him home."

Ginny scrunched up her forehead. "Do we have any idea where _'home'_ is for him?"

"That would be Hogwarts, wouldn't it?" Neville gave her a blank look.

Hermione shook her head. "Not necessarily. The school's not open again. I talked to Prof- Headmistress McGonagall the other day, and they'll only open again in July – summer school to make up for the missed year."

Ginny shuddered. "Mum's already talked about private classes."

"If he doesn't return to Hogwarts that would make things rather difficult," she added.

"And if he _does_ return to Hogwarts, you think trying to manipulate him into marrying a student is going to be easier?" Ron turned back from the window. Hermione winced. She wasn't used to hearing his voice harsh with sarcasm. But he had a point. A very _good_ point.

"He'd never allow himself to see anything in her but a _student_," Luna put in. "The castle's enchanted to keep everyone in it safe – physically and mentally – if at all possible. There has never been an incident of a student seducing a teacher at Hogwarts. Or the other way round. Whereas at Beauxbatons Academy there are two ghosts that are the result of an unhappy love affair between a student and a teacher." She beamed at them.

Ron paled. Harry frowned.

"Somehow I need to get close to him in a way that's not obvious," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Hogwarts would be easier than wherever he lives. And he _will_ need a job."

"Oh, I think he'll go back to Hogwarts," Luna said cheerfully. "He'll feel so guilty about what he had to do as a headmaster. And as the Prophet has already decided that no one would ever marry him, I doubt anyone else would employ him. After all, they'd have to assume he'll be taken to Azkaban after only three years. That's really not enough time to build up a good employer-employee relationship."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. "I mustn't _be_ a student, then. How about – is there a problem with apprentices marrying their masters? In the Muggle world it would be."

Ron and Ginny shrugged – they had obviously never thought about that. Neville's wide-eyed look said more than words. But Luna – well-informed of all sordid tales of wizarding society – exchanged her usual distant smile for a naughty little grin. "In the Muggle world that may be the case. In the wizarding world such contracts are bespelled to protect apprentices. A Master's feelings cannot interfere with his evaluation of the apprentice. Perenelle Flamel was Nicolas Flamel's apprentice when they got married."

"However do you know such stuff, Luna?" Harry said full of admiration.

Luna's smile turned beatifical again. "My father once ran a series about legendary wizarding love affairs. Morgaine and Merlin, Nicolas and Perenelle, Minerva and Albus."

"Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore?" Hermione gasped. "I don't believe that!"

Luna merely shrugged. But Ginny giggled. "That makes more sense than the crumple-horned snorkack."

"The apprentice idea sounds good," Harry said.

"It _would_ give me three years of working with him every day. That would give me – us – time. And opportunity. I guess." Hermione's stomach tightened. "I hope."

She'd never said a private word to Professor Snape while at school. The only personal thing she'd ever said to him had been _"Don't you fucking die on me"_ before they'd both been whisked off to St. Mungo's. And the only personal thing _he _had ever said to her had been his observation that he couldn't see a difference between her normal and her hexed teeth. An incident that still hurt. Apart from that they had only ever interacted as teacher and student. And he hadn't really liked her then.

If he hadn't liked her when she was a student, how likely was he to accept her as his apprentice? And while she'd managed top grades even in Potions, especially in her OWLs ... she was well aware that she was not up to his standards. She'd never given much thought to that, either, as she'd never considered a career in Potions.

"I will need to take my NEWTs as soon as possible," she said at last. "And I'll have to be better than I ever was." After spending more than a year out of school.

"I'll need someone to coach me in Potions," she added. "And I'm afraid we'll still need someone to bully Snape into taking me on as an apprentice. He never had an apprentice before, so why should he get one now? And even he considered that on his own, I think he'd never – _ever_ – consider me."

Luna nodded, pleased as a mother whose child has just solved a riddle. "We will need to talk to Headmistress McGonagall."

**oooOooo**


	8. A Visit

**A Visit **

"It's good to see you, Miss Granger," Minerva McGonagall said, and to Hermione's discomfort proceeded to hug her.

"Thank you for your invitation." Hermione smiled and tried not to stare at the changes in the room. There were new curtains, rich colours in tartan patterns. The many spindle-legged tables had been reduced to one that was placed between two battered over-stuffed armchairs (red leather and dark wood, possibly oak) in front of the fireplace. In a corner, next to a cosy cat basket, stood a handsome scratching post.

One of the shelves now sported a glass-cabinet with an astounding selection of whisky bottles.

"Why don't we sit down and have some tea?"

"Thank you," Hermione said. "That would be nice."

Outside the pale sunshine that had accompanied her to the castle had given way to an April shower. Rain pounded against the windows.

They sat down on the armchairs, and when Headmistress McGonagall tapped the table between them with her wand, a complete five o'clock tea with savouries, scones and sweets appeared on the table, along with two pots of tea. Judging from the smell one contained Earl Grey, the other Darjeeling, first flush.

Hermione had no appetite whatsoever, but she was grateful for a cup of tea to keep her hands from scratching down new hangnails. Her nerves were just a tad frazzled these days.

They needed outside help. And Headmistress McGonagall was really their best bet. But they also needed to keep the number of people aware of The Plan as low as possible. Luna had told them in disconcertingly clear words that it was inevitable that their plan would be discovered at some point.

_"Such things will out," she'd told them. "The Quibbler once had a series of articles covering magical plots and conspiracies. They were all exposed. Though sometimes rather too late." _

_Hermione had rolled her eyes, but Harry had agreed with Luna. "Look at Voldemort – Snape himself is the best proof for what Luna says. We'll just have to try and make sure that we're only discovered when it's already too late." _

_"You mean, after we're married." _

_"Yeah," Harry had agreed and looked at her with strangely sad eyes. "That would be best."_

Hermione took a deep breath and dragged her attention back into the room.

"Pardon? I'm afraid my thoughts drifted a bit," she said, heat suffusing her face.

But McGonagall smiled kindly. "All of us have a lot on our minds at the moment. Why are you here today? I was hoping I would see you again at Hogwarts when we start summer school."

Hermione took another deep breath, then released it. Hyperventilating was not a good idea just now. She swallowed dryly. _Now or never. Out with it. _

"I – I have come to ask you for a favour, Headmistress. And ... if ... at all possible, I would ask you to ... to keep this – the reason for my visit – confidential."

The Headmistress frowned. A look of alarm crossed her face. But after a moment she nodded. "Very well. I shall do what I can. So what is it you have come for?"

Hermione lowered her cup down with shaking hands. The spoon rattled a little when she placed it on the table. She bent down for her bag and extricated a roll of parchment. Just looking at the official seal of the Wizarding Genealogy Offices made her feel slightly sick.

"If you would take a look at this, please?"

**oooOooo **

"I – I must say that – it is very – very commendable of you, Miss Granger, to – to want to – ah – attempt – this," stuttered Headmistress McGonagall. Her nose had taken on a distinct pink hue.

Then: "Would you care for a bit of whisky? Because I need one now."

Hermione blinked, slightly bewildered. Headmistress McGonagall was offering her whisky?

"Uh ... just a little bit." It wouldn't be polite to refuse, and if Minerva McGonagall thought that a whisky would help, she'd gladly follow her teacher's lead.

"Ardbeg for me, and I think a wee bit Glenmorangie for you." McGonagall handed her a glass with pale golden liquid, barely a finger high. Her own glass was considerably fuller, and the colour was darker, amber rather than gold.

The alcohol burned on Hermione's tongue and settled into a small, but surprisingly pleasant fire in the pit of her stomach. The next swallow actually tasted not too bad. Rather sweet and flowery, if liquid flames could taste that way.

"Your plan is good," Headmistress McGonagall said suddenly. "But I hope you don't expect it to work. Severus is not a man who –"

"Headmistress – I'm sorry for interrupting you – I – I don't expect – all I want is – to get him – to consider and I rather hope to take me up on it – a – a marriage of _umm..._ convenience. I'd never expect him to – I just – I couldn't bear – there's really been enough death and suffering caused by V- Voldemort." She sounded like broken recording of Jane Austen's complete works. Hermione winced.

To heighten her embarrassment, McGonagall's eyes misted over. "Indeed," the Headmistress said. "More than enough.

"But I merely wanted to say that Severus Snape is neither easily manipulated nor do I think he ever intended to marry, not for love or any other reason. Not after ... " McGonagall cleared her throat and continued briskly, "I suggest that you use the weekend to pack your things. On Monday we will start private lessons for your NEWTs. And tomorrow I will pay Horace a visit and remind him of the debt he owes the wizarding world."

"Horace?" Then Hermione realised just whom McGonagall was talking about.

"Horace Slughorn," the Headmistress confirmed. "You, Miss Granger, will have to become a genius at Potions. Being your usual brilliant self will not suffice. For once you have a real academic challenge ahead of you.

"I have no doubt that you will master this challenge. And I can only wish you and Severus the best of luck for the other."

**oooOooo**


	9. Progress

**Progress **

She had visited Snape at least once a week ever since she had been released from St. Mungo's herself.

At first she'd sat frozen. She'd come in, sat down on the visitor's chair, and spent two hours staring at his still form, dazed, without thought or feeling.

After three or four weeks, whenever she'd entered the room she'd started shaking and crying. Eventually that had passed, though.

She had grown quite calm. When she visited him, she found herself grow as still within herself as he appeared, lying in that silent room, the only sound his shallow breathing. Outside, the world was moving on, memorial services and victory celebrations over, heroes and victims beginning to pick up the pieces of shattered lives and moving on. Inside this quiet room, time stood still.

At some point she'd grown anxious again, had started worrying again. The Healers promised her over and over again that he _would_ heal and that he _would_ live, but still he did not move, still he did not wake.

Had she saved him for a life spent in coma?

Her visiting hours were spent in nervous tension, watching, watching his face, his hands, for any change at all. But there was nothing. And when she left the hospital, she felt exhausted and drained.

Sitting next to him now she was even more scared than before. But now she was scared that he _would_ wake up, and not that he wouldn't. What if he woke? What would he say? Would he be able to speak? Would he even recognise her? Would she be able to act as if –

She shook her head.

The good thing about this situation – and about the _only_ good thing about the situation – was that there was nothing normal about it. It wouldn't matter if she was not able to behave as if nothing had happened, because so many things _had _happened, after all.

The Healers had no idea if he had lost his memories completely, or how many he had lost. The only thing they knew was that whatever Snape had done, it was not the normal method of retrieving memories for a Pensieve. At the moment a Memory Charms specialist from the Permanent Spell Damage Ward was working with Harry to copy the memories and purge them – as much as that was possible – from Harry's thoughts and emotions upon seeing them.

Hermione winced. She felt really sorry for whoever would end up having to explain _that_ to Snape. Not enough that he was still alive, when he'd planned on dying, he would get his most private and painful memories back as seen from the perspective of the one person alive he detested most of all.

Was that a movement? She started, bent forwards, her eyes intent on his drawn, pale features. Her heart started racing and her stomach constricted.

Was he waking up now?

She stared at his face, at that thin body underneath the white and green covers. He looked so much smaller than she remembered him as a teacher. Human, pale and frail instead of powerful, black and looming over them all.

She frowned. His breathing appeared to be deeper than it had. And not as regular as before. Was that only her imagination or had that eyelid twitched slightly?

The door was opened. Slowly, carefully. And Healer Mugwort poked her head in. "It's time, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded and rose to her feet. She wasn't quite sure if she was disappointed that yet another of her visits had passed without Snape waking up, or relieved.

When the door closed behind her at last, she sighed and turned to the healer. "Are you sure he'll wake up soon?"

Muriel Mugwort nodded. "Didn't you notice the changes?"

Hermione flexed her lower lip thoughtfully. "I am not sure, but he did appear to breathe more deeply. And not as regularly as he did before. And I think I saw one of his eyelids move."

The Healer smiled. "He can breathe without magical help again. And he is moving his eyes in his sleep. He is really only sleeping now. He _will_ wake. Don't worry. He'll wake, and he'll live. And everything will be just fine."

Hermione clenched her teeth. She knew that Mugwort only wanted to reassure her. But nothing would be _"just fine"_. It just didn't work that way. Especially not with a life-sentence in Azkaban hanging over Snape's head due to some misconceptions about Muggle justice on the part of over-eager Ministry officials.

She forced a smile. "Thank you. I really hope so."

**oooOooo **

"You look like shit, kid," George quipped when she entered Grimmauld Place. He'd moved in after the memorial service. He couldn't sleep at the Burrow, and he couldn't sleep at the flat he'd shared with his twin. She wasn't sure if he slept at Grimmauld Place either, for that matter. He was so pale that the freshly whitewashed walls looked colourful in comparison. His freckles stood out in dark flecks, making him look as if he had an attack of the measles.

"You, too." She put her bag down and stretched wearily. "Are the others back in?"

"Yes, you're the last one to come back. I just came down to get more butterbeer to help oil that war-- planning session."

Hermione flinched. Some words just didn't work anymore. A year or two ago, she'd have grinned at the term _"war council"_. But then Fred would have been alive to flap his hand over his mouth in a mock imitation of a war cry.

"I'll be upstairs in a minute," she said.

"No changes then?"

She grimaced. "Some changes, the Healer said, but he's still unconscious."

"Don't look so glum," George said. "That gives us more time to come up with our plans. And taking on that big bad bat of the dungeons will require some bloody good plans."

"He's not a bat. And he's not bad," Hermione said automatically. "I just hope our plans will be good enough."

**oooOooo**


	10. More Planning and a Mystery

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

** juno-magic DOT fancrone DOT net/blog/junofanfic/hp-fanfic/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer  
**(or use the link on my profile page)

* * *

**oooOooo**

**More Planning and a Mystery **

"... so he may really wake any day now," Hermione concluded.

"And what will happen then?" Harry asked, pacing in front of the window, filled with nervous energy. "He'll be told of his trial, and of the conditions for his probation. What is he going to do then? What are they – the Ministry – going to do then?"

Hermione realised what he was getting at. "You mean, is he going to visit the Wizarding Genealogy Offices right away – are they going to tell him –"

She felt her face grow cold, as if the blood was literally draining from her head. But Ginny shook her head and interrupted, "I did some more research. I looked up the procedures of the WGO and the details of the new marriage laws."

Ginny frowned when she noticed how everyone was staring at her. "What? Do you think Hermione is the only one in this room who knows how to find out about stuff?"

"No, no, we don't. Please, go on. What did you come up with?"

"Basically that either those Ministry-types are complete morons, or they are utterly, despicably devious.

"The first thing is, the WGO _can't_ do one-sided searches. That would be matchmaking, and they don't have the licence for that. Matchmaking is an extremely lucrative business, and the laws guarding those licences go way back. Like, way before _'Anno Domini'_ had any meaning.

"Second, the results are protected by privacy laws, which means that Ministry officials have no way of getting them, unless they're dabbling in Dark Arts. Which I wouldn't put beyond them, of course.

"Third, and that's where things get really weird, Hermione shouldn't have been able to get the results either."

"What? But she had _two_ blood samples!" Harry and Ron chorused.

"She had the blood samples, yes, but she only _said_ she was engaged to Snape, she really isn't. Whatever spells they are using at the WGO, they ought to have recognised her lie and they shouldn't have worked."

"Why?" Ron looked blank.

Hermione's thoughts whirled with panic. _Was there any chance the results were duped? Oh, God, that would be beyond embarrassing! _

"Think about it, Ron," she forced herself to say. "The WGO are working with highly sensitive information. You can't get much more private than your bloodline, especially with people so hung up on purity. You need to make sure that not just anyone can get their hands on that data. And it's not just to prevent blackmail. If they didn't have excellent safeguards they could just as well call it _'Blood Magic Unlimited'_." She turned to Ginny. "Do you think my results are ..."

"Wrong? Forged?" Ginny emphatically shook her head. "Luna and I deep-scanned the parchment. And Luna did some kind of involved truth-revealing spell. Something they sometimes use in the Quibbler, for verifying their top-stories."

Suddenly Hermione realised how deathly pale Luna was. Her skin looked as if it was painted on, her normally protruding eyes lay deep in their sockets.

"It's all right," Luna reassured her. "I'm just exhausted. That spell is _really_ advanced magic. But, Hermione, I can promise you that the results are valid. And what's more, for some reason the magic thinks that you are already engaged."

"What?" Hermione squeaked. "I'm what?"

Ginny and Luna gave identical shrugs. "We have no idea why the magic thinks what it thinks. But that's the only explanation."

For a long moment the room was perfectly silent.

"Maybe it's part of that arithmantic anomaly," Harry suggested at last.

Hermione exhaled a deep breath. That would almost make sense.

"And all I wanted was life getting normal again," she muttered. Then her thoughts returned to the matter at hand. "As for the Ministry, Ginny, I think we all know that being crazy and evil is not mutually exclusive." She sighed. "That probation's really a joke. It sounds as if they never really _wanted_ him to be free. They dangle a normal, married life in front of him for publicity's sake when they KNOW that he has next to no chance of finding someone he can legally marry. Even without that anomaly, how could he ever have a fair chance?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't ask us, ask the Ministry. I guess he could go to a Matchmaker. That would probably get the desired result under normal circumstances. He could brew Felix Felicis. But do you think he will? Can you honestly see Snape even _trying _to find a wife in order to satisfy this condition?"

He wasn't looking at her. He'd been friendly and polite to her ever since he'd accepted her decision. He hadn't even mocked her about starting a new version of SPEW. But he never looked at her. Never met her eyes. And continued to amaze her with his new-found maturity.

"No," she said at last. "I don't think he'd go to the Genealogy Offices even if they did one-sided searches."

_Even if the Ministry told him right away that I'm his only chance at staying out of Azkaban, I can't really see him asking me to marry him,_ she thought.

"So what happens next?" Neville asked.

Hermione sighed. "I go back to Hogwarts. And on Monday I start brushing up on my Potions skills in private lessons with dear Professor Slughorn."

Ron made gagging noises and Ginny found herself smiling at them. Some things, at least, hadn't changed.

"Uhh..." Harry cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. "Right." He went to one of the shelves and retrieved something that looked like a book. No, _two_ books.

"I've got something for you, Hermione."

He came over to her and held the books out to her. She recognized the first one at once. _"Advanced Potion-Making – by the Half-Blood Prince"._

"I'd almost forgotten about it," Harry mumbled apologetically. "I went and got it from the Room of Requirement after Dumbledore was—after Dumbledore died."

A pause. "You'll need all the help you can get. _Uhh..._ Ginny? How about we go down and start dinner?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	11. Books

_... "You'll need all the help you can get. Uhh... Ginny? How about we go down and start dinner?"_**  
**

**Books **

Hermione nodded, staring at the battered book.

She remembered her misgivings about it. How the bloody brilliance of the annotations had made her jealous. How the lack of respect had infuriated her. How all the arguments it had caused had hurt her. Now she would have to be grateful that Harry had remembered to retrieve it. She put it on the table and turned her attention to the second book. This one was different, a scorched, dark-green journal.

_A diary?_ She frowned, instantly suspicious. _But Harry wouldn't give me a dangerous book, would he? Not after ... _

"Of course he would," she muttered. "Some things never change."

She pulled out her wand and held it at the ready, while turning the book into the light. Faded initials. An L and an E.

"LE?" She stared at the book, her heart pounding. _Was this – could this be –_

She flipped the book open.

_"Potions,"_ was written on the first page in a smooth, faintly girly handwriting.

_"Thoughts, Notes and Ramblings Pertaining to My _Second_-Favourite Subject at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." _

Underneath it someone had scrawled in a boyish, crabbed script that was trying too hard to look spiky and cool, but didn't quite achieve the desired effect: _"An Effort to Scientifically & Systematically Improve on Depillatius Boring & Moronicus Dunderheadalus" _

_"September 2, 1970. First Potions lesson. I loved it. Like cooking, only better. Here's the recipe of what we did ...  
Severus liked it, too. But he's sulking 'cause they won't let us experiment. He wants to know what would happen if he changed any ingredients or stirred differently. We've decided to set up a small lab in a hiding place so we can try out things." _

_"September 5, 1970. Today we did ... I think I used a bit too much of fluxweed. James Potter, that idiot, used a LOT too much fluxweed. His cauldron exploded, the lesson was cancelled and I never got to see if my potion turned out all right. Moron. And he grinned all the time as if he was a hero or something." _

_"At least now we know what adding too much fluxweed does to a potion" _was scrawled under that entry in narrow, boyish letters.

_"September 12, 1970. Severus is right. Not being allowed to experiment is BORING. Charms is more fun. But I think I've discovered a hiding place where we can put up our secret lab. It's a room in the school. But it's not always there. And if it's there, I don't think it looks always the same. Will have to investigate it tonight. I wish Slytherin house was closer to mine. And that Gail didn't snore." _

At a rustling noise she looked up. Harry was standing in the door.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered. "This – this is –"

He nodded. "My mother's diary. I found it under a heap of galleons in my Gringotts vault when I cleaned up in there. It covers all of her Potions lessons at Hogwarts. She was even more obsessive about note-taking than you."

He took a deep breath and pointed at the other book. "Be careful, though, Hermione. He was livid 'cause I got my hands on _his_ old book. I don't want to imagine what he'd do if he realised this one was still around." He gulped. "She – He – They brewed together until he – until they had that row – until my mother – until she couldn't – didn't forgive him … He really _did_ love her, Hermione."

**oooOooo **

Slughorn, Hermione decided, was even slimier than a slug. Snape's hair at its greasiest couldn't be as oily as the Potions Master's condescending friendliness. But, she _did_ have to grant him that, he'd given her an exceedingly thorough test to assess her skills _and_ he'd whipped up a schedule for their lessons in half an hour that left her feeling hopeful, if slightly queasy.

Hermione made it back to the Great Hall just in time for lunch. After six months of repairing and rebuilding, Hogwarts looked as if nothing had happened – apart from the epitaphs in the walls wherever someone had died in the last battle. She hesitated in the doorway. The hall was very empty without students. The enchanted sky above her was filled with drifting clouds.

"Miss Granger!"

She started. Headmistress McGonagall was waving to her. "Why don't you sit with us? I assure you, we don't bite."

"Are you sure, Minerva dear?" Horace Slughorn leaned back in his seat, laughing, his round belly wobbling slightly.

Hermione sighed. She'd rather called a house-elf to her room. Instead she quickly made her way up to the teachers' table. Today only Headmistress McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Vector and Professor Slughorn were present.

"Thank you," she said, when McGonagall drew out a chair next to her.

"Nonsense, dear, it would be ridiculous for you to sit down there."

A soft pop heralded the arrival of a bowl of soup. Hermione sighed gratefully. Somehow the house-elves knew she had next to no appetite. She forced herself to pick up the spoon. She knew she had to eat. Adding an eating disorder to her problems wouldn't be a good idea.

Hermione had read up on her symptoms, of course.

PTSD, depression, and quite simply ... _grief_. She'd even considered seeing a Muggle therapist, but quickly discarded the idea. She wouldn't be able to tell him the truth and that rather defeated the idea of therapy. Intellectually, she knew that as time passed, she would feel better. She would, eventually, come to terms with her losses. With never seeing her parents again – along with their memories they were irretrievably lost to her. With never seeing Fred again. Or Tonks. Or Lupin. Or – Ruthlessly she stopped the mantra of names that wanted to replay _ad infinitum _in her mind. Eventually, she would sleep better. She wouldn't feel sick at the mere thought of food.

But at the moment such a simple act as eating her soup was almost more than she could handle.

**oooOooo**


	12. Awakening

**Awakening **

"There will be a number of changes once school starts again," Minerva was telling Slughorn. "New teachers – Henrietta Hitchens will take over Muggle Studies. Bill Weasley will take over Defence Against the Dark Arts. Alberic Switch has agreed to join us in a year to take over transfiguration. Until then I will continue to teach. Potions –"

"Well, Minerva, I wouldn't worry. Even if Severus can't shoulder a full work-load for a while yet, I am sure I can turn Miss Granger here into a more than acceptable apprentice until September. And she has the energy of youth to help her deal with the pranks of the lower forms."

Hermione lifted her head from her soup, trying not to stare at Headmistress McGonagall. But of course the woman noticed and gave her the tiniest wink. Hermione lowered her gaze again. If the Headmistress wanted Snape to take an apprentice, she doubted that the Potions Master would be in a position to refuse. Thinking of the still, slight form that was all that remained of the once imposing man at the moment, she realised that he likely _would_ need an apprentice.

"Hermione, we need to talk about your NEWTs after lunch. Would you come to my office at two o'clock?"

"Of course, Headmistress. And thank you for allowing me to sit with you. Professors." She nodded politely to the other teachers at the table.

**oooOooo **

"I know you would really prefer to take all subjects again, Hermione," McGonagall said, as she held out a cup of tea to Hermione. "But that really wouldn't be feasible."

Hermione nodded. "I know. And I –" She sighed a little. "I have to admit that I really wouldn't have the energy, even with private lessons."

McGonagall looked at her sharply, eyebrows raised. "You hardly eat," she observed. "And you don't look as if you're sleeping much. You should see Poppy about that."

Again, Hermione nodded. "I will."

The Headmistress sighed. "It _has _been only six months. It takes time to recover. But you are young, you have your whole life ahead of you. I won't give you that rubbish about _'time heals all wounds'_ – time doesn't. _But_ the passage of time _will_ make it easier to live with them.

"Now, your subjects: Potions, naturally. Also, Charms – the most difficult Potions are Charmed Potions. Herbology, of course. I suggest you take Arithmancy as your fourth subject – stirring figures, measurements and brewing times are all dependant on arithmancy and numerology."

"I'll miss transfiguration," Hermione admitted. "But I agree. That's all I will need, and that combination is regarded as one the most challenging besides the one you need for Auror training." She smiled faintly.

"Good." McGonagall sounded satisfied. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley won't be coming back to school, I gather?"

Hermione shook her head. "Harry has already started Auror training. He'll be taking his NEWTs as he goes along. It will be easier on him than returning to Hogwarts and get stared at like an animal in the zoo all the time. Ron is taking evening courses in accountancy of all things. He and George and Lee Jordan will continue to run the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But Ginny will be back. And Neville, and Luna."

"That's good. I am looking forward to seeing them again."

**oooOooo **

A week later, Headmistress McGonagall summoned Hermione to her office, breaking up an extremely interesting Arithmancy lesson.

"He's awake," McGonagall told her when Hermione stepped into her office, slightly out of breath. The Headmistress was very pale. "I was there when he woke this morning."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, she sucked in her breath and felt her knees go unaccountably weak.

"Sit down, girl. You need to go and see him, not faint in my office."

Wordlessly, Hermione sank down on the visitor's chair in front of the desk.

"How ... is he?"

"Awake. Alive." Headmistress McGonagall had to swallow before she could continue. "Confused. Unable to speak. – For the moment. The Healers are ... _somewhat_ hopeful that he will recover some faculty of speech in time."

"Oh God," Hermione whispered.

But as always, there was no answer.

**oooOooo **

"He is really much better," Healer Mugwort assured Hermione. "Of course he still can't talk, but he knows where he is, and what happened."

"You told him?" Hermione asked.

"Of course. He needed to know at least the bare-boned facts of what happened to be able to re-orient himself and to accept that he is still alive."

"How ... how did he react?" Hermione's voice was shaking.

"Not as bad as he might have," the healer said succinctly. "Now, here we go. Don't allow him to move too much – nodding or shaking his head. You may have half an hour."

"Professor? You have a visitor." Muriel Mugwort put her arm around Hermione and drew her closer to the bed.

Snape was indeed awake. His bed had been transfigured so that he was propped up in a half-lying, half-sitting position. He had been staring straight ahead at the rain outside the window. At the healer's voice he turned his head. Gradually, in tiny, slow, feeble movements.His eyes lay deep in their sockets. Against the deathly pallor of his face they were almost black, but dull. The burning intensity that Hermione remembered from his volatile dungeon temper was gone.

"Professor Snape?" she said hesitantly. "May I – may I stay with you a bit? Sit down, perhaps?"

His gaze focused on her. His mouth twitched. A minute shrug of his bony shoulders seemed to indicate that he couldn't care less if she did or not.Hermione sank down on the chair, knees once more weak with nerves and relief.

Healer Mugwort smiled at them and nodded encouragingly. "I'll be back in half an hour. Call me if you need anything."

Mugwort gently closed the door behind her, and Hermione was alone with her former teacher.

"I'm so glad that you're awake," Hermione whispered.

A painful snort answered her. Severus Snape did not agree with her.

**oooOooo**


	13. Long Term Effects

_"I'm so glad that you're awake," Hermione whispered. _

_A painful snort answered her. Severus Snape did not agree with her. _

**Long Term Effects **

She winced and her cold hands cramped into white-knuckled fists. But she did not turn away, meeting that black gaze as calmly as she could.

"I'm sorry, sir."

His dark eyes narrowed derisively, but his throat only produced a barely audible rasp. However, he did not need to say anything. She understood him well enough without hearing aloud what he _would_ have said.

_"How typically Gryffindor. Acting first and thinking later. Although I would have expected better of _you_, Miss Granger. Or was I mistaken by the impression that you always know everything? Better than Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and now apparently, better than I do?" _

She winced again, but still she did not look away. "I just couldn't ..."

Unable to finish her sentence, she fell silent and just sat there, looking at him.

To her surprise, he did not turn his head away or close his eyes. Instead he simply returned her gaze, with eyes that were much too dark for his pale face. His features ... empty ... exhausted. Tears burned in her eyes. But she was getting better at not crying.

When Healer Mugwort opened the door again, Hermione was still sitting at Snape's bed. She looked up and tried to smile. The expression felt strange and deliberate on her face, and when the healer raised an eyebrow at her, she gave up on her feeble attempt.

She turned back to face her professor, who still hadn't moved.

"I will come back if I may, sir."

He rolled his eyes in answer and gave another, almost imperceptible shrug of his too thin shoulders.

_"Does it look as if I were able to stop such advances? Suit yourself, Miss Granger, as you will do anyway, whether I'd like it or not." _

**oooOooo **

Once in the Healer's small office, Hermione leaned exhaustedly against the wall. She felt as drained as after an hours-long exam.

"Sit down. _Sit down!_" Mugwort took her at the arm and led her to her usual chair. With a flick of her wand, the Healer produced tea for two. With another, the grey-haired witch _accio_'ed a small red bottle from one of her shelves. "Just a spoonful of Pepper-Up-Potion," she declared. "Open up, girl. Or I'll make it Invigoration Draught and that doesn't taste half as nice."

Hermione obediently swallowed the Pepper-Up, gasping and sputtering only a little when the peppery potion burned its way down to her stomach. Her eyes watered.

"I think I could come to appreciate Headmistress McGonagall's whisky," she wheezed. "Similar effect, but more pleasant on the tongue."

Mugwort snorted. "So Minerva shared her whisky with you? She must like you."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You know Headmistress McGonagall?"

The older witch afforded her a cunning grin. "We went to school together. We always got along well, for all I was in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor."

Another surprise. If Hermione'd had to guess, she'd probably have sorted Muriel Mugwort into Hufflepuff.

"House allegiance isn't everything, you know, girl? It shouldn't be at school, and most _certainly_ should not matter once you're grown up and out in the world." The Healer sniffed. "Of course in _some_ old habits die hard."

Hermione flinched, as heat rose in her cheeks. She really should know better, after all that had happened. But as the Healer said: old habits sometimes had a longer life-span than they ought to.

"When will he be able to talk?" she asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Mugwort didn't answer. Instead she picked up her cup and took a deep swallow. Then she proceeded to slowly turn the mug – green ivy wrapping around a black background – in her hands. At last she sighed.

"I don't really know IF he will be able to speak again. He _should_ be. We placed a stasis spell on his injuries while we drained the venom from his body. When his body would respond to magical healing again, we repaired all the damage his body had sustained. I don't think there's even a scar on the inside of that stiff neck of his. But see, vocal cords are a touchy part of human anatomy. There may be long term effects even though organically speaking he ought to be all right. Wizard-healers, for all our learning and our magical power, aren't much good with long-term effects on a body, anything that can't be put to rights at once."

Hermione stared at her own cup. Steam drifted over the pale yellow of lime, balm and chamomile tea. She didn't much care for the taste, but it was soothing for her nerves without interfering with the Pepper-Up. _Long-term effects._ She definitely knew more about that than magical healers. Her mother had been involved in dental surgery, repairing jaws and teeth smashed in traffic accidents and the like.

"Speech therapy," she said at last. "What he needs is speech therapy. If he's physically all right, he needs someone to guide his healing process and to make him exercise properly."

Mugwort frowned at her. "What kind of therapy is that? I've never heard of that before."

"Oh, you wouldn't," Hermione replied. "It's a Muggle thing. Without magic, you have to deal with many long-term effects of illness and accidents." She sighed. "So there's no magical speech therapy? Too bad."

Then an idea struck. "Could we bring in a Muggle therapist? I happen to know a very good one. The hospital where my mother works –" She caught herself and gulped. "Where my mother _worked_, she sometimes called a speech therapist in even before she started surgery. Of course I guess you'd have to _Obliviate_ her afterwards ... so probably not ..."

"Hmmm ..." Mugwort put her mug on the table and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "Maybe and maybe not. It is worth a try – and I know just whom to approach about this. Severus would certainly feel much better if he was able to lash out with that wicked tongue of his again.

"What's the name?"

"Lois Petrel," Hermione said.

**oooOooo**


	14. Special Needs

**Special Needs **

At roughly the same time Lois Petrel stared at the calm face of an older woman with square glasses and a stern bun, who spoke with a distinct Scottish burr.

"So my daughter does not have ADHD? She's _not_ a special needs child?"

Professor McGonagall frowned. "I do not know what this A-D-H-D is, but of course your child has special needs. She shows all the signs of growing up to be an extremely talented witch. You can't just send her to some Muggle school and force her to forego her powers and her talents."

"A witch," Lois Petrel repeated.

A part of her mind was shouting at her to pick up the phone and call the police and the psychiatric hospital. But another part of her mind marvelled: _Of course – that's _what_ it is! She has power inside her that she cannot get rid of. That would make anyone behave as if they've got a million ants inside._

"Yes," Mistress McGonagall confirmed. "A witch. A human being just like you, but with very special talents – like me."

Suddenly the woman appeared to fold in on herself, growing smaller and smaller in front of Lois' eyes, until a dainty tabby cat sat on the chair before the young speech therapist. But before Lois could shout or have hysterics, the cat began to grow again, until the woman was back on the chair, not a hair out of place.

"Wow," Lois said. "That – that is very convincing."

_Unless I wake in a nice, white cell tomorrow morning after having been locked up for a nervous breakdown._ But of course she couldn't afford a nervous breakdown, she had Alina to think of, and that had always kept her going, ever since she'd found out at age sixteen that she was pregnant. Pregnant, with the father disappeared over night.

McGonagall smiled. "Term starts at September 1. Alina will receive a letter via owl post – an owl will fly to you with a letter from the school – like _uh..._ Muggle messenger pigeons. The Professor for Muggle studies, Professor Hitchens, will make an appointment with you to help you get everything Alina will need at Hogwarts.

"We take Muggle-wizard relations very seriously, and we want Muggle parents involved in their children's education. So please, if you have any question at all, feel free to drop me a line via Floo network. We've hooked up your fireplace for message transport already. You just take a pinch of this powder, throw it into the fire, say my name and then you toss your letter into the fire. It won't burn, don't worry, but show up on my side of the network.

"Once your daughter is at school, you can use school owls for your mail, or you can buy one of your own.

"I know this is rather a shock and a surprise for you, but I _promise _you, Alina will be happy with us."

**oooOooo **

Hermione wasn't really surprised when Harry showed up in the evening of the day after she had visited Snape. She was curled up with Crookshanks and _"Most Potente Potions"_ on the sofa of the empty Gryffindor common room, when Harry climbed through the portrait hole.

"Hullo, Hermione," he said. "I brought you some butterbeer."

Hermione was tempted to roll her eyes at him – what a transparent excuse! In her mind she imagined what Snape would say now, "_Surely even a Gryffindor can do better than that?" _

Aloud she settled for "Thank you, Harry, that's really nice of you."

She carefully placed the book on the reading table, far away from Harry's bottles.

Harry held out a bottle to her. Glass clinked against glass. Hermione drank deeply and suppressed a shudder. She didn't even like butterbeer, really.

For a while they sat silently in front of the fireplace. A year ago, Hermione would have prodded and nagged Harry about why he'd come. But now she simply didn't have the energy. He'd come over to talk, that was obvious. Therefore she was reasonably sure he would eventually start speaking.

"I've been to visit him," Harry said suddenly, without looking at his friend. "It was horrible."

"Why?"

"He – he didn't say anything, anything at all. He just lay there, looking like a ghost and stared at me. He didn't even sneer or smirk. It was scary." Harry shivered. "And I – I apologised, but – but – how do you make up for six FUCKING years when I treated him like shit, and I bloody HATED him, and –

"And then he just closed his eyes.

"Gods, Hermione." Harry slumped back. "And he doesn't even know about the details of that trial and the sentence yet. And there's no way of telling how much he remembers, though I do suspect it's a fair bit from the way he looked at me. But he wouldn't say anything. Anything at all."

"That's because he _can't_, Harry. I talked with Healer Mugwort yesterday. Physically, he is healed, but that doesn't mean there are no long-term effects, on his vocal cords for example. Not to mention the ... psychological effects of the stress he was under when he was ... attacked."

The long words and the rather clinical explanation soothed her mind. And she could see that they had at least some effect on Harry.

"Are you still working on purifying those memories?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, but that process should be finished soon. I hope. I don't want to look at them ever again. Though I doubt that they will ever be far from my mind, for as long as I live. Going over them again and again to filter out what my ... thoughts, feelings ... my perception has added to them ... Hermione ... I ..."

He shook his head, unable to find words to express himself.

"Oh, Harry."

They remained on the sofa for another hour or so, drinking their butterbeer in silence. Then Harry excused himself. Ginny and the others would already be waiting for him at Grimmauld Place.

**oooOooo**


	15. Experiments

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Experiments **

Three days later, Hermione sat cross-legged on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. On her lap rested a fat, leather-bound tome, the parchment brittle with age. Crookshanks, who was enjoying the emptiness of the tower sprawled out magnificently in one of the squashy armchairs near the fireplace.

It was almost midnight, but Pliny's "The Natural History" was not only part of the reading list provided for her by Professor Slughorn – it was actually very interesting.

_There is a wild purslain_, she read, _of which remarkable properties are mentioned. It neutralizes the effects, it is said, of poisoned arrows, and the venom of snakes ... _

She closed the book. Snakes. Venom. She really didn't want to read about that. She didn't want to think about that. A glance at the clock told her that it was already midnight, but in spite of the fact that she had an early lesson at the greenhouses in the morning – herbs had to be harvested before the sun grew warm – she didn't want to go to bed. She was not nearly tired enough to be able to sleep without nightmares. Briefly she contemplated Dreamless Sleep Potion. She shook her head. It was strong, it was habit-forming, and she knew she'd taken too much of it in the last months.

_Better to do something constructive,_ she thought. _Something to advance the plan of turning herself into an apprentice Snape would appreciate. _

"Crooks, I'm off to the dungeons to do some brewing. Are you coming?"

The cat turned its back, curling curled up into a tight ball. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Well, that was a clear answer at least.

**oooOooo **

Her footfalls echoed in the empty corridors and staircases. With no students in residence, the teachers didn't patrol the castle at night. Only Filch did his usual round at ten o'clock, making sure that all windows were shut and all candles extinguished.

As Hermione was about to enter the narrow staircase that led from the Entrance Hall down to the dungeons, one of the new epitaphs engraved in the castle's walls caught her eye. The stones for the epitaphs had been sandblasted. They stood out bright and cream-coloured against the age-darkened walls of the castle. She knew that the castle itself had chosen the verse for each marker. This one read:

_"Morgaine Montgomery, 1984-1998. Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds." _

She must have been one of the students who slipped back into Hogwarts with Colin Creevey, Hermione realised. She'd heard that name before but where? Montgomery … oh, of course. The Montgomery sisters. Morgaine and Madeleine. Their little brother had been killed by Fenrir Greyback. Now there was only Madeleine left. Hermione tried to call up a face to go with the name, but nothing would come to mind. Morgaine had been a Fourth Year when she was killed, likely in another house, so it was not really surprising that Hermione didn't know her.

But as she stood in the twilight of the Entrance Hall, staring at the marker, she couldn't help feeling that she ought to have known her.

**oooOooo **

The door of the Potions Master's office was closed and Hermione hurried past it. The castle was cold in April, the dungeons positively icy. Once inside the Potions classroom, the first thing she did was light up a roaring fire and call up enough witch lights to illuminate the room brighter than she had ever seen it before. Without thinking, she went to her usual seat, a routine formed in six years of Potions lessons twice a week and a fair number of detentions served in that very same place. But when she was about to place her books on the desk, she hesitated.

She wasn't a pupil any longer, for all that she was still studying for her NEWTs right now. She would never sit there again in a Potions Class, while her teacher stalked the room, glaring at her for her eagerness to get on with the discussion.Hermione inhaled deeply and deliberately moved to the next desk. That one had been Neville's. She was reasonably sure that the desk wasn't cursed, as her friend had once claimed. Only his fear of the professor had made him so nervous and clumsy in class.

"All right," she muttered. "Now let's try something completely new."

Reading the Half-Blood Prince's notes along with Lily's Potions Diary had given her some ideas her fingers were itching to try out.

Maybe because she had such trouble sleeping, she had been thinking about sleeping potions and their dangers a lot lately. She had even drawn up a chart to compare the various elixirs and philtres, and discovered a strange similarity: all of them relied rather heavily on magic for such natural effects as sleep and rest.

Her father had been very interested in homeopathy, and somehow the common factor among popular sleeping draughts had reminded Hermione of a discussion they had once had.

_"We have become so used to taking Aspirin and Tylenol that we never think about alternatives anymore. A bias. Of course there _are_ situations when you need all those drugs, but very often a natural remedy would suffice, or even work better. It's like this – when all you use is a hammer, eventually all your problems start looking like nails …" _

She sighed. She missed her father's wry humour so much.

"Magic's definitely the hammer here," she mused, setting out Valerian roots, skullcap, California poppy, hops, passion flower, chamomile and nutmeg on the desk. "If I treat magic only as the very last and minor ingredient, used at just the right time, in just the right way to turn this into something more than a simple tea, the result should be quite different from the regular sleeping draughts. Much milder, but still efficacious. Of course, if I'm wrong I might be cooking up a pot of poison …"

Hermione grinned, when an irreverent thought struck her: _Snape would likely approve either way. _

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **What Hermione reads is taken from "The Natural History of Pliny", Vol. IV, chapter 81, 20, translation by John Bostock and H.T. Riley, London 1856.

The epitaph is a quote attributed to Buddha. The Montgomery sisters and brother are canon, though their names are not given.

The ingredients Hermione uses are based on a herbal sleeping potion I found online.


	16. The Next Meeting

**The Next Meeting **

"A word with you, please."

Hermione had been about to leave the Great Hall, headed for another Charms lesson. Professor Flitwick had her practicing advanced wand movements, using an exercise wand of the same length and weight as her real wand, but with no magical powers. At the moment she rather doubted that she would ever reach sufficient dexterity to scrape more than an "Exceeds Expectations" in her NEWTs.

_And Snape was so exceedingly deft and adroit with his fingers … _

She had started considering all her efforts in relation to her studies according to how she imagined _he _would judge them. And for some reason she found that she never measured up.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

"My office please, follow me. Don't worry, it won't take long. You'll be in time for your lesson. And Professor Flitwick tells me that he is very happy with your performance so far."

"Oh." Hermione's cheeks flushed with a pleasant warmth. But an insistent voice at the back of her mind niggled, "_So you mean to tell me that dropping your exercise wand three times a session exceeds expectations? I don't even want to know what expectations those were to start with, in that case …" _

A murmured _"Bonnie Prince Charlie"_ opened the entrance to the office of the Headmistress. Moments later Hermione faced Headmistress McGonagall across her paper-strewn, claw-footed desk.

"I spent the morning at St. Mungo's," McGonagall said. Her voice sounded strained, her lips pressed into thin lines.

Instantly, Hermione's mouth turned dry and her stomach quivered with nerves. "How … how is Professor Snape?"

Apparently the Headmistress noticed how anxious Hermione was and offered one of her rare, fleeting smiles. "I found him much improved – at least as far as his physical health is concerned. And it seems that luck is with us, for the moment: the name of that … speech therapist you gave Muriel – Lois Petrel, she's the mother of one of our new First Years."

"Really?" exclaimed Hermione. "I never knew that Alina is a witch!"

"You know the child?"

"Not very well, Headmistress. In the holidays I used to meet my mother at the hospital for lunch now and again, and sometimes when Mrs. Petrel had no other babysitter for Alina, Mrs. Petrel took her along to the hospital – they have childcare facilities for the employees there, though they were really designed for younger children. I remember that Alina was always very hyper."

"Ah. Well, due to the fortunate circumstance of Alina being a witch, Muriel Mugwort was able to approach Mrs. Petrel concerning your suggestion of speech therapy."

"Of course!" Hermione cried. "If her daughter's a witch, she wouldn't need to be _Obliviated_!"

McGonagall nodded. "Mrs Petrel has agreed to take over Professor Snape's therapy. I believe they have met once a day for the past week."

"Oh, that is wonderful news! Is he making any progress?"

"He is quite … articulate by now," McGonagall said in a dry tone that suggested whatever Snape had had to say to her, had not been pleasantries. "However, not in the way he was before the attack. You will be able to see for yourself. You may Apparate to St Mungo's after your session with Professor Flitwick this afternoon."

The Headmistress cleared her throat and looked at Hermione full of sympathy. "Mrs Petrel will be there this afternoon as well. She has been apprised of your parents' situation. Therefore – should you wish to, you may talk openly with her."

Hermione expelled her breath as if she'd been punched into the stomach.

She tried not to think of her parents. It had not been her fault. She couldn't have known that the Ministry had cast an undetectable protection spell over her parents. She couldn't have known that this particular protection spell would interfere with the Memory Charms she had placed on them much the way Pepper-Up Potion reacted with _Veritaserum_. She couldn't have known. Therefore it was not her fault.

And at least she knew that her parents were alive. And happy. Even if they'd never remember that they'd ever had a daughter.

"Thank you," Hermione said at last. "I'd better go to my lesson now."

**oooOooo **

"Miss Granger," Snape murmured as she entered the room and grimaced as if he'd bitten unexpectedly on a Bitterbark biscuit. Headmistress McGonagall had been right. His voice had changed completely. No longer silky and smooth, modulated and expressive, it was halting now, hoarse and harsh.

But he _could_ speak again.

"Professor Snape – it's so good to hear your voice again!" She smiled at him, overcome with relief.

He snorted at her words, a weak, unimpressive noise, not at all like her former Potions teacher.

"May I sit down?" she asked politely.

He did not speak again, only quirked up a black eyebrow and gestured towards the chair with a feeble jerk of his left hand. As if he wanted to say, _"Since I can't remove you bodily from this room, you might as well sit down."_

Hermione sank down on the chair. On her way to his room, she had thought about things she could tell him – maybe give him news about the other Order members? Or about how Hogwarts had been repaired? That she was going to take her NEWTs soon and that she was working on a Potions project?

But now that she sat at his side, all her plans seemed to have fled from her mind. What remained were confusion, apprehension, and muddled, painful questions that she couldn't possibly ask him.

"Miss Granger," Snape rasped, his words barely audible. "I hear … that I am supposed to –" His voice cracked with pain when he strained to emphasize the word, "– _thank_ you … yet again … This ... time ... for devising a therapy to … recover my faculty of speech."

Her heart pounding, Hermione met his gaze. His eyes were bleak, his face devoid of expression.

"I'm just glad it works," she said softly.

Snape closed his eyes. "I am not."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **I know that many of you are waiting to get back good ol' snarky Snape. However, I don't really think that's feasible after everything that happened. My research shows that it's very likely that he suffered at least a paralysis of one of his vocal cords, and such nerve injuries take a very long time to heal. Apart from that, he _wanted_ to die. Instead he's now not only alive, but owes Hermione Granger a life debt. And he's been told about his trial and the sentence. Therefore I feel that it would be physically and psychologically impossible for him to behave the way he did before the attack and the last battle.


	17. Damn and Damn Again

**Damn And Damn Again **

Looking into green eyes so much Lily's, then sinking into the liberating oblivion of death had _obviously_ been too much to ask for.

He heard Hermione Granger gasp. For a long, agonizing moment of silence, the girl held her breath. When she finally had to exhale, the sound was caught between a sigh and sob.

Her distress, so clearly audible, made the life-debts he owed her tug uncomfortably at the core of his soul. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, and balled his hands into fists, glad that the blankets covered this helpless, overly emotional reaction.

_Damn_ fate and all the Gods, or whoever got to decide that Granger's idea of subjecting him to Muggle speech therapy was worth yet another life-debt. And of course none of the times when _he_ had saved _her_ counted in his favour. Either because his objective had been to save Harry – or due to his teacher's oath. Sworn to protect all of his students, saving her life had been part of his job description.

Of course he _had_ to admit that if he absolutely must live, it would be infinitely harder without being able to speak. Or sing. On the other hand, maybe it would be better if he were _not_ able to speak or sing when the door of his cell in Azkaban would shut behind him in three years. Insanity would certainly come faster. Though – would insanity grant him oblivion?

He shuddered.

_Damn_ Minerva, too, when he was already at it: for blithely pushing him into another three years of bondage. And damn _him_, for being shocked at her ruthlessness, at how she exploited his situation. Had she been a Slytherin, he would have expected her move. He would even have appreciated her stratagem. It was fairly cunning of her to save herself the trouble of having to replace her Potions Master by first securing his services for another three years and then forcing him to take on an apprentice who would very conveniently be all trained up and ready to take over by the time he would be carted off to Azkaban.

Snape didn't seem able to shake off the sense of horror that gripped him since Minerva had informed him of everything that had transpired since that vile snake had sunk its fangs into his neck. From Voldemort's downfall to his trial _in absentia_ and that terrible, ridiculous condition of his probation. Though he should probably be grateful for small mercies: At least Minerva hadn't suggested that he ask one of the female Order members should sacrifice herself in order to save him from Azkaban.

A painful sneer contorted his lips.

As if he would ever consider that. He had surely ruined quite enough lives without having to add another woman's life and freedom to that balance, no matter if she acted out of a misplaced sense of obligation or worse, out of pity.

But the worry in Minerva's eyes had almost seemed genuine when she talked about him returning to Hogwarts to recover. He snorted. Almost as if she was still fearing for his life – as if she were afraid that he would kill himself.

As if he could!

He was _cursed _to live, Bound by the second of three Unbreakable Vows he had made in his life. And this second Vow would remain unlifted until he either died a natural death or was killed by another.

His memory was frayed – he was aware of that, of holes and tears and cracks, of agony and anger no longer connected with time or place or event – oh Potter, damn you, damn you, _damn you_, for being so much like her, so fucking damn _noble_. So fucking _clueless_.

But there was one memory he had retained.

The last time he'd seen Lily alive. She'd gone to visit a friend at St. Mungo's. He'd cornered her and dragged her into the linen cupboard. He'd fallen to his knees before her and begged her forgiveness all over again, had implored her to leave the country. He had seen in her eyes then that she knew what he'd done … And then she had made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to her, using – how _Slytherin_ of her – her idiotic, guileless friend as their Bonder.

She had made him swear to her that no matter _what _happened, he would not kill himself …

He remembered everything. As if it was yesterday. And even after so many years the same questions tortured and haunted him. Had Lily really known what he had done? Had she forced that Vow on him because she had come to hate him? Or had she done it because she still, somehow, at least a little – well, not loved him, of course, for how could she? But cared for him? In spite of it all? The fact remained that no matter what the reasons for her request had been, _he had done what she wanted_. Since Lily was dead, he could never be released from the Vow. And now, whatever her motivations might have been, this Vow would turn into the cruellest torture he could imagine.

He was alive.

In three years' time he would be sent to Azkaban for the rest of his natural life. And he could not kill himself unless he wanted to be forced to return as a ghost.

_Of course,_ he mused, _one thing p__ossibly topped even that horror: Gryffindor Hermione Granger of all people would become his apprentice. There was, however, one bright spot. As his apprentice she would be bound to obey any order he gave her._ He smirked. Mentally he began to review the nastiest duties a Potions Master could give his apprentice. _Oh, the orders he would give her …_

Abruptly he gasped as an idea struck him. _Orders. She would have to obey all of his orders._ _Maybe there was a way for him to be put out of his misery after all …_

Suddenly he had a lot to think about.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Everyone who wanted Snape, here he is. One whole chapter in his mind. _Wow._

Snape's last meeting with Lily and the fact that she made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to stay alive are of course completely made up. But I _do_ think there was more to Lily than just a pretty smile. I also hope that one time of calling someone a bad name is not enough to destroy a friendship.

Unbreakable Vows - mere death as a result for breaking the Vow has always seemed not quite persuasive to me, therefore I've added the twist that you have to return as a ghost if you break your side of the promise. You could also assume that this condition was part of the Vow, if you like that idea better.


	18. Accumulating Life Debts

**Accumulating Life-Debts **

Raised voices shattered his reverie. Two he recognised at once, Minerva McGonagall and Healer Mugwort. The other voice he couldn't place at once.

Then the door was thrown open with a bang, and Dolores Umbridge snarled, "I know he's awake. And I insist on talking to him now. He'll be called up as a witness for several pending trials. And then there's his own …"

"The decision of the Chalice of Neith is final," protested Minerva McGonagall.

"That's what you think," Umbridge hissed. "And now I really need to talk to the … _patient_."

His eyes flared open, but in that instant two things happened nearly at the same time: Granger jumped up, putting herself between his bed and the door, and somehow she managed to find his left hand under the blankets.

Cold, thin fingers curled around his hand, holding on tightly – as if her _life_ depended on it.

"Headmistress McGonagall!" the girl cried. "Professor Snape – he tried to speak – but he couldn't – and then – then he fainted!"

He took his cue from her and became perfectly still, even though that meant he had to leave his hand in her grasp.

"What happened, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall hurried to the bed and had the gall to actually place her hand on his forehead. It was all he could do not to jerk back.

"I – I – He wanted to speak – but he couldn't – and then, I think the exertion simply got too much for him – and he – he simply fainted."

He almost snorted. You didn't need to be a _Legilimens_ to realise that the girl was lying. But the level of her anguish was certainly authentic, and just obvious enough that it might – _maybe _– fool Umbridge.

Then Healer Mugwort raised her voice, "Out! _Out!_ Everyone of you. And Umbridge, don't you _dare_ set foot inside my ward again unless you come with Aurors and a warrant. Out! He's had a relapse. Yes, Miss Granger, even you."

Reluctantly the fingers that were still holding onto his hand loosened their grip.

He heard movement, muttering, the door closed, then silence. He gave it another five minutes, then he exhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes. Muriel Mugwort sat in the chair Granger had vacated, her keen gaze resting on his face.

Snape attempted a smirk, but that hurt the muscles in his throat and he winced. Muriel flicked her wand over him in the slow wave of a diagnostic reading. Green and red runes lit up in the air above his body and faded again.

"Well," the Healer said. "That Umbridge is really a nasty piece of work, isn't she? You're lucky that the Granger girl reacted so quickly."

A sharp metaphysical tug let him know just _how_ lucky he had been. He seemed to be accumulating life-debts these days the way a stray dog acquired fleas. He closed his eyes again. _You've got no idea_, he wanted to say. But his voice failed him. So he just mutely shook his head.

"You need to sleep now," Mugwort said. "Your energy levels are very low."

He wanted to shake his head again – hadn't he slept long enough during the last six months? But even that small movement was too much. Fatigue dragged at his mind like lead weights, and everything grew dark.

**oooOooo **

Hermione recognised Mrs. Petrel the moment she entered the Isolation Ward.

Lois was a petite woman with very pale skin, and long, dark brown hair that she wore in a stern pony tail, much like Professor McGonagall's bun. But her chocolate-coloured eyes were warm and understanding, and her whole demeanour was always very calm, quiet and unthreatening. She was the kind of person who put you at ease. Someone you could have sitting at your bedside in silence all day if you were sick, and you wouldn't feel bad about it at all.

The amazing thing about her daughter was how _different_ from her mother Alina was. The little girl looked almost exactly like her mother (only her hair was a little darker, and she promised to grow tall). But temperamentally they were complete opposites – Alina was a little dervish, always on the move, sprightly, impulsive, hyper.

_Well,_ Hermione thought, as Lois Petrel was walking towards her, _if Alina is a witch, maybe her temper is not so surprising after all. I wonder which house she'll be sorted into … _

Lois ignored her hand and simply embraced Hermione, holding her tightly for a long moment. "I am so sorry, Hermione. I had no idea."

Hermione drew a shuddering breath. "Of course not. And –" She forced a shaky smile. "My parents are _well_. So there's really no need …"

Lois drew back and gazed intently at her. "You've really grown up, Hermione."

"Healer Mugwort is still with Professor Snape. There was – a – an altercation, but everything's under control now. I think it's best if we go to her office and wait there for her."

"A cup of tea would not come amiss, I think," Lois said. "I assume you can do the …" She waved her hand in the air as if she were holding a wand.

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I can."

"How convenient."

Once ensconced in Muriel Mugwort's comfortable office, Lois carefully looked her over, and Hermione wondered just how much McGonagall and Mugwort had told the therapist about past events in the wizarding world. _A lot,_ she suspected, and Lois' next words rather confirmed that.

"Hermione, you _do_ realise that you don't always have to be strong? Even adults are allowed to be weak. And to need help. I know that we've been barely more than acquaintances in the past, but I _am_ a link to your old life. And you _do_ belong to my daughter's new world.

"If you ever need someone, a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear … I'll be there for you."

Hermione drew a shivering breath. "I – Lois – thank you. That is – it – means a lot."

And it really did.

**oooOooo**


	19. Pub Crawl

**Pub Crawl **

"Why a Muggle pub, Hermione?" Ron groused.

"Because we needed to talk without being overheard, Ronald," Hermione replied, trying to cling to the fraying edges of her patience.

They were hanging out at a comfortably grubby pub/club affair in London. The kind of place students went for dinner and planning the rest of their evening. One of those places, Hermione imagined, that you would think back to fondly even many years later. The beer was good, though sloppily served. You could survive the fish'n'chips served there, but it was wiser to stick to the _chili con carne_. In compensation the prices did not make your stomach lurch.

Not that her companions – not even Harry, not anymore – had any idea about the value of Muggle money.

Upon settling down in their booth, they'd erected first an invisible _Muffliato_ screen around them. Then a whispered _Attentionem Propulso_ had made sure that no one would want to pay any attention to them.

"Couldn't we have done that somewhere in Diagon Alley? Or Hogsmeade? Or –" Ron whined. They had had to schedule their meeting late because of him. The crash course in "Business Magic" he was taking at the evening school in Skol Alley only ended at 10 pm. After just spending three hours tackling the wizarding version of accountancy, it was probably no wonder that he was grouchy.

"Ron, shut it," Harry ordered. "We're too well known in the wizarding world. This is much better."

"I like it," Luna put in. With a serene smile she surveyed her surroundings. Her large eyes shimmered in the dim light of the pub, filled with fascination at the goings-on around them

Ron and Neville looked distinctly uncomfortable.

_I bet it's the clothes,_ Hermione mused. Ron almost never left the house without robes, and she didn't think she'd ever seen Neville in public without "proper" clothes. _It must feel to them as if they're wearing pyjamas._ She grinned to herself. That would also explain why Luna was so comfortable … although their eccentric friend had dressed herself, and now looked like very much like some kind of hippy in her skimpy, flowery dress, Luna fit in well. Even with her necklace of bottle-caps. One of the girls at the bar was actually decked out much weirder.

Ginny had looked down her nose at Harry for suggesting that he transfigure their robes. Then she'd cast a quick _Vestimenta Transformo_ on herself.

"So how long have you been reading the Vogue?" Hermione asked her friend.

Ginny grinned. "That outfit is actually from the Cosmopolitan."

The tight pair of white trousers showed off her slender legs, while the wide neckline of her charcoal top subtly emphasized her slight cleavage. Smooth amber-coloured leather boots hugged her calves. She even had a bag in the same style.

Ginny had also applied some make-up, just enough to emphasise both hair and wide lips. And she wore her hair short now, styled into a rascally bob.

Hermione sighed. No wonder that neither Neville nor Harry could keep their eyes off Ginny. _Another reason for Ron's bad temper, probably_.

"Hrmpf."

"I suggest we get started," Harry announced. "How is the Plan progressing, Hermione?"

"I'll sit my NEWTs next week." She fought a wave of panic that threatened to uncoil in her stomach.

"Don't worry, Hermione. You'll be brilliant, as usual," Ginny encouraged her.

Hermione gave her a wry grin. "I'd better be, hadn't I? If he's ever going to take any notice of me, I have to be a bloody genius."

Ron shook her head. "You actually like that, don't you? A man that's a real intellectual challenge. Someone who would ordinarily never even look at you."

"Ron!" Harry and Ginny exclaimed angrily. Neville looked as if he'd like to turn invisible. Luna nodded appreciatively.

Hermione winced, but she couldn't think of anything to say. She didn't know what to think in the first place!

"I thought you were over that, Ron," Ginny said.

"I am," her brother bit out. "That was just a random observation among friends."

For a moment silence descended around the table.

Then Harry continued, "Right. So how is he?"

"Better," Hermione said. "He still has problems swallowing and almost no voice, and when he chokes he needs someone nearby who can cast _Anapneo_. But he _is_ improving. Lois tells me that what he has is a paralysis of one side of his vocal cords due to the injury. The nerves were damaged and that's something magic cannot repair. They have to heal in their own time. That takes long – many months. And he needs intensive therapy. But apart from that he is really much better. Healer Mugwort told me that he'll be released from St. Mungo's in a week. That way he'll have a few weeks at home before summer academy starts at Hogwarts."

"And what will he do? You said that McGonagall asked him to come back to Hogwarts," Neville asked, "but will he?" He took a deep swallow from his cider. "You know, Hermione, this stuff tastes not half bad."

Luna was stacking up beer mats in front of her. She was inordinately fascinated with their different shapes and designs.

"He will," Hermione confirmed. "He told me so when I visited him the last time. Apparently McGonagall simply told him when he'd have to be back in time for the summer courses and informed him that I'd be ready to start my apprenticeship with him at that time."

"And he simply agreed?" Ginny frowned.

"Apparently," Hermione replied. "You know, I have been wondering about that as well. Why would he so readily agree to come back? Not to mention having me of all people as his apprentice."

Luna turned away from her reverie of the beer mats and gazed at her friends, her eyes wide and weird, as if she was seeing things no one else in the shabby pub could perceive.

"Hogwarts needs him," she said simply. "His students need him. What else would he do?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"Attentionem propulso"_ means "I keep attention away". _"Vestimenta transformo" _means _"I transform clothes"_.

Ginny and Muggle magazines - I think Ginny might have figured that knowing about Muggle things might help her understand Harry better. And then she actually ended up liking Muggle magazines.


	20. Spinner's End and Dream's Beginning

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Spinner's End and Dream's Beginning **

Snape staggered into the small sitting-room and slumped down on the one piece of furniture that had escaped the wreckage. His old, threadbare sofa. Now soot-blackened it looked even worse for wear.

He didn't look at his beloved books, torn and burned, leaves and spines scattered on the floor.

Of course his wards hadn't held. Raging Death Eaters had taken out their wrath over their defeat on his property. It was a fucking miracle that he wasn't able to stuff the remains of his house into a matchbox.

Not that he cared. It was not as if he had any good memories of this place.

_Memories_ – his stomach heaved as his mind rolled with the newly restored memories. Bile rose from his stomach. He mustn't give in to that impulse. He would choke. It would be so easy to give in, to allow himself to suffocate and die. He gagged.

_No._ Not that way. If there was one thing he wanted less than for his miserable existence to continue beyond the fateful door of a prison-cell in Azkaban three years hence, it was for this existence to continue _ad aeternam_. If only because he really preferred black robes to the pearly silver habit of ghosts. No, if he was to escape from this hell, he would have to keep his wits together.

_Control your breathing. Concentrate on your diaphragm. Measured, shallow breaths. Relax. Count the seconds. _The calm voice of Healer – no, she wasn't a Healer – of Mrs. Petrel echoed in his mind.

Slowly the seconds ticked by. Gradually the urge to vomit faded, leaving him spent and weak. His head pounded.

The memories had been purified completely. He had to admit that he was grateful for that. Looking at his miserable memories with the eyes of Harry _bloody_ Potter might have killed him and brought him back as a ghost instantly. But because the memories had been cleansed that also meant they did not contain the signature of his thoughts anymore. So now they felt alien and painful in his mind. As if iron spikes had been rammed into his brain.

_And oh God, oh God …_ Why hadn't he simply _refused_ those memories? After all, there was nothing even remotely good or pleasant about them. Why had he insisted on getting back what was his, when he _knew_ that it was impossible to truly return to him what he had given away in that moment of weakness, when he _knew_ that whatever he'd get back wouldn't really be _his_ memories anymore, when half the wizarding world _shared_ those memories with him now?

What a fool he was, what a fucking fool. But fortune really did favour fools, apparently. The purification process had worked and now everything was back in place. Back out of place. _Whatever. _He balled his hands into fists, fighting down the cramps that gripped his stomach again.

Potter, _Bloody_ Potter, why couldn't you have let them sentence me to death? And Hermione _Clueless_ Granger, why couldn't you stop to think just _once_ in your life?

**oooOooo **

Hermione _Clueless_ Granger was finishing up a tour of Hogwarts Castle in the dungeons. "This is the Potions classroom. I'm currently conducting some experiments in here. I hope they may convince Professor Snape that it's not the most awful thing in the universe to take me on as his apprentice."

"Why would he think that?" Lois asked. She was walking along the shelves and staring full of fascination at the many glasses, phials and bottles, with their colourful powders, glittering liquids and strange shapes.

"Well, he didn't much care for my attitude when I was his student."

"Why? I can't imagine you being anything but studious and brilliant." Lois stepped next to Hermione, looking intrigued at the cauldrons on the table in front of her.

Hermione sighed. "I didn't understand that for a long time. But I guess I was just too … _eager_ … I kept disrupting the pace he'd set for his lessons. And he – he is someone who would very much prefer to be in complete control of everything."

"Being magic affords you a much greater control of things, I'd imagine," Lois suggested.

Hermione grimaced. "Not necessarily. It's … more something personal, I think. Anyway, here's what I'm working on at the moment – basically it's Muggle homeopathy with a little _'extra'_. I'm trying to use magic very sparingly to make the potions easier on the system. Before hanging around at St. Mungo's so much I really had no idea of how bad magical side effects can be …"

"That makes a lot of sense, Hermione. How are your experiments coming along?"

Hermione sighed and crease appeared between her eyebrows. "_Uh …_ I'm not sure. I feel so fucking _clueless_ all the time. I'm just not used to experimenting. Do you know that I always dreamed of that when I was younger? Experimenting. Doing something new and creative.

"But now … it's hard for me to think beyond my textbooks. You know, during the last years, what with the war going on and my friends always getting into difficulties and neglecting their school work as if there'd be no life after – after –" She shook her head. "I never had the chance to really immerse myself, to … you know, _enjoy_, _play_ with what I learned. And – following the rules, being perfect at that, getting _exactly_ the described results – that made me feel … safe. _Secure._ I was in control."

"Now the war is over, and you can let go," Lois said gently. "At least a bit. Life is never completely safe. But your life and the lives of your friends are no longer in danger. It is okay to relax a bit. To relinquish control."

"It's just not easy," Hermione admitted. "And trying _harder_ all the time makes it even more difficult."

Lois laughed, a friendly, lilting sound. "Yes, that wouldn't work. Don't worry too much, Hermione. You've got time. Relax, and allow your dream to begin."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **"Fortune favours the fool." is a quote by Desiderius Erasmus.

Minerva McGonagall allowed Lois Petrel to visit Hogwarts because of her connection to Hermione's parents. And because the Headmistress wants to involve the parents of Muggle-born students more than before in their children's education.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	21. An Unexpected Shopping Trip

**An Unexpected Shopping Trip **

Hermione's mind was still in the dungeons with her cauldrons when she made her way to the seventh floor for her last lesson with Professor Flitwick before she would sit her NEWTs.

The thought of the exams stabbed into the pit of her stomach and made it lurch. But only a little. She'd been so scared of the OWLs. Why wasn't she in a complete panic now?

But she wasn't. Instead, she wondered about what to do with her latest brewing project.

**oooOooo **

In a flight of fancy she'd added the creation of a soothing bathing lotion to her list of projects. Which was actually Ginny's fault.

Because Ginny had bought a simple, no, rather a _simply_ _ridiculous_ Muggle foaming bath that contained thousands of tiny metallic golden hearts – which Ginny had charmed so that they created a whirlpool, tickling the skin of the bathers. Not that there weren't wizarding substances with the same effect, but the practical Ginny had discovered that buying Muggle was much cheaper. Being a deft hand at Charms, the young witch saw no reason to spend a Penny or a Knut more than she absolutely had to. Ginny had promised Hermione that what she did was perfectly legal and absolutely safe, since she enchanted the Muggle-made substances only her own personal use in the privacy of her own home. She'd only get in trouble if a Muggle with no clearance for the wizarding world came into contact with the results of her thriftiness.

_"And I assure you, I have no intention of sharing my bathtub with an uninitiated Muggle," Ginny had told her. _

Even thinking about that tart reassurance made Hermione roll her eyes.

_"I should hope not, Ginny," Harry had commented, his cheeks colouring suspiciously. _

Hermione groaned. Apparently Harry had been quite _enchanted _with Ginny's bathing solution.

No, she really did _not_ need _those_ images in her mind.

But the bathing incident had reminded her of what else you could brew potions. Creams, tonics, perfumes … and bathing lotions. Still unwilling to resort to stronger remedies, Hermione was on the lookout for something to keep nightmares away and fears at bay for purely selfish reasons. _A good way to stay motivated,_ she mused.

The main ingredients for the Muggle recipe she'd picked as the basis for her new project were milk and a variety of essential oils (rose, jasmine, musk, ylang-ylang). Rose for calmness of mind and emotional stability, but without the sedative effects of a sleeping potion. Jasmine for invigorating effects that wouldn't make you hyper. Musk oil was best known as a powerful aphrodisiac, but it was also an amazing purifying agent. Ylang-Ylang, perhaps the most interesting substance among the lot, was just as ambiguous as musk. Not only an aphrodisiac, it would soothe an agitated heart and could even induce slightly euphoric moods.

Hermione wasn't too sure about musk and ylang-ylang in the mix – she'd probably want to substitute safer substances for them in the long run, maybe lavender and a bit of frankincense instead? – but as Muggle baths went, it was pleasant enough to start with. _But …_ it just wasn't strong enough, _magical _enough, to combat her sleeplessness and her restlessness. Maybe mooncow milk instead of ordinary milk. But that stuff was _expensive_! She'd need a gallon to conduct enough experiments. Or if she used powdered unicorn horn instead of baking soda as a cleansing agent? Its purifying properties should be strong enough to replace the musk oil.

**oooOooo **

Suddenly Hermione found herself right in front of Professor Flitwick's office. When had the way from the dungeons to the seventh floor become so short? Normally it took ages to climb all those stairs. She knocked and entered the room. To her surprise, she found the diminutive professor dressed up for going out.

"Professor Flitwick?" she asked. Had she mixed up the time? Was she supposed to be elsewhere right now?

"No, no, Miss Granger – I haven't forgotten your lesson," Professor Flitwick piped up. "But it won't take place here. We're going to Diagon Alley, to visit Ollivander's today."

Hermione frowned, but the professor smiled at her enthusiastically.

"It's time you got a second wand."

"What?" Dumbstruck, Hermione could only gape at her teacher. Only the most powerful and adept witches and wizards could work with two wands. She knew that Dumbledore had had two wands. Flitwick, of course, could use two as well. She suspected that Snape probably could, too. But she? She was still practicing some of the more complicated one-handed swirls Flitwick was teaching her every night!

"Yes, Miss Granger. You will definitely need a second wand if you're going to be Severus Snape's apprentice. Do not look so frightened! We've not been practicing all those moves for nothing." Flitwick beamed at her. "I am sure that at the end of the summer not even Snape will have much to complain about when it comes to your wand skills."

_Practising all those moves …_ Suddenly Hermione felt rather stupid. That was why Flitwick had insisted on training her to use her left hand. That was why some of the new patterns didn't make sense to her at all. They were only half a pattern! She'd need a second wand to complete the movements.

How devious of the little old man! That was positively _Slytherin_! To leave her in the dark like that, embarrassed by her lack of progress and her clumsiness …

"Are you ready to Floo? I really don't fancy walking to the Apparition point in that kind of weather."

Hermione glanced at the window. Heavy spring rains were pounding against the panes. She'd never noticed, spending her morning in the dungeons.

"Flooing is fine with me, Professor."

Suddenly her stomach quivered giddily. _A second wand. Oh my GOD, Professor Flitwick thinks I'm good enough to handle a second wand!_

With a shaking hand, she picked up a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fire. "Ollivander's, please," she said with a firm voice. "Diagon Alley."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Ginny and Harry in a tub. Hermione fiddling with a bathing lotion that contains ingredients with aphrodisiac properties. Yes, my mind's in the dungeons. 

I think only the strongest and most talented wizards would be able to wield two wands. Obviously Hermione is not yet at that stage. But Flitwick definitely sees some potential there. More wandlore in the next chapter.


	22. Wandcraft

**Wandcraft **

Coughing, Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace and stared. The narrow little shop had changed. The window sparkled in the sunlight of the spring afternoon. The hardwood floor gleamed with polish, filling the room with the scent of beeswax and vervain. There were new shelves, no longer dark with age, but bright new pinewood, reminding Hermione of IKEA of all things. But the shelves were stacked from floor to ceiling with the very same slender boxes she remembered from her exhilarating first visit to this shop in the company of her parents and Professor McGonagall.

The long, dark desk was still there as well, although deep scratches and soot-marks gouged the wood. And behind the desk was Mr. Ollivander. The old man looked frail and thin. His wispy white hair reminded her of a fluffy cumulus cloud and his moon-like eyes were as disconcerting as ever.

"Miss Granger," he said in a husky voice. "I see you have come to choose your second wand."

Ollivander gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Vine suits you even better now. A shrub as sprightly as your hair, if I may say so. Good for binding spells. Enhancing the powers of the bearer, it carries the spark of inspiration. Did you know that grapevine is traditionally also connected with healing and fertility? Since the days of Dionysus vine has been greeted as the disperser of grief and sorrow. And not only its produce, but its wood as well."

Hermione cleared her throat, unsure of how to reply. But apparently the aged wizard did not expect a comment, because he turned to the fireplace, which flared green again, announcing the impending arrival of Professor Flitwick.

"And my dear Filius, of course. Ash and birch."

The small wizard dusted off his robes and beamed at the other man. "And still in perfect working condition, after 79 years."

"I expected no less." Ollivander solemnly inclined his head.

"Now, Miss Granger. Please place your first wand on the desk," he said softly and stepped to his desk. "Would you like to try this? Cherry, and a hair from the coat of a Cerynaian hind. Use your left hand, please."

But the wand remained quiescent. It didn't even prickle, when she gave it a cautious wave.

"Mistletoe with a griffin-feather, maybe?"

She managed to burn her own hand with it.

"Oh no, oh no. But don't worry – it always takes much longer to find a suitable second wand. After all, it has not only to complement your personality, but that of your first wand, too."

After three hours of waving her left wrist in miniature flicks, trying out wand after wand, Hermione was getting sorely tired. As her initial elation was wearing off, doubts began to creep into her mind. Maybe Professor Flitwick had made a mistake, and she wasn't ready for a second wand? Maybe she would never be?

The wand that lay in front of her at the moment was longer than her first and more rigid. The wood had a reddish shimmer and just a few marks where twigs or branches had been. It looked rather handsome.

When she picked it up, her stomach tingled. When she waved it, a shiver raced down her spine. She opened her eyes. A pearly glow shone around the wand – and what was more, an answering sheen shimmered along her first wand where it lay on Ollivander's desk.

"Ah…" Ollivander sighed with satisfaction. "Here we go. Yew, 16.535 433 071 inches, containing the feather of a sphinx. An interesting choice. A male second wand to match your female first. It signifies rebirth. A good wand for transfiguration and arithmancy. A wand that may guide and transform, the objects it is used upon just as much as its wielder. And a sphinx' power for wisdom and cunning."

**oooOooo **

Severus Snape took a deep breath and entered the shop.

It was late at night, and Diagon Alley was almost deserted. He knew he had to be very grateful that Ollivander had decided to see him at all, and agreeing to open up the shop at this ungodly hour was certainly more than he had any right to expect. And he was not even sure if it was wise for him to come. What would he need wands attuned to his very soul for at Hogwarts? Brewing school potions and teaching could be done with any wand bought off the rack.

But ever since his first wand had been broken – how that memory _hurt_, even today, even after so many years – he had yearned to have a wand again that would respond perfectly to him, to the magic deep within his soul … For many years he had resisted that desire. A wand imprinted on him would have been a liability in his position. And the events of the past year had proven just how well his caution had served him, when the D– when Voldemort's ignorance of wandcraft had eventually served to defeat him.

"Welcome, Master Snape," Ollivander said. A single candle illuminated the old man's face, casting eerie shadows of his fluffy hair against the stacks of wand boxes behind him.

"Thank you for … agreeing … to see me …" He was painfully aware that his voice amounted to no more than a hoarse whisper. Yet it was better than it had been.

"Ebony, it was. And unicorn hair. A wand of darkness and light." Ollivander sniffed. "A pity it was broken.

"Try this one first."

**oooOooo **

_"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander had told him before closing the door behind him, an enigmatic smile wrinkling his face. "And always for a reason. Don't forget that." _

Now Snape sat on his threadbare sofa again, a wand in each shaking hand.

Yew with dragon heartstring in his right. Birch with the feather of a sphinx in his left.

Resurrection and a new beginning.  
Strength of heart and inner wisdom.

_If only he could make himself belief in the symbolism of wandcraft again. _

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The Cerynaian hind is the Golden Hind of Greek mythology. Also,I do adore wandlore. The woods and the magical core for each wand mentioned in this chapter were most carefully chosen.


	23. A Good Night's Rest

**A Good Night's Rest **

The good thing about the last night before the NEWTs was that Hermione had an excellent reason for not being able to sleep. An easy to explain, very obvious reason. She took the Calming Draught provided for her by Madam Pomfrey and dozed, her head resting on her pillow, which in turn rested on a stack of the most important books for her four subjects. (No one was here yet to find out about how she had at last succumbed to ancient superstitions. And if the house-elves discovered her last-ditch efforts to prepare for her exams, they probably wouldn't tell on her.)

Arithmancy wouldn't be a problem. She felt safe there. Numbers were good. Figures were fine. Calculations were, well, calculable. And the Muggle maths she'd been doing seemed to help her figure out the more bizarre problems posed in the mock exams she'd been doing. Even though she wasn't quite sure why.

She turned on her back, the rounded spine of her Potions book pressing almost comfortable against her neck her underneath the pillow.

Charms … ordinary, NEWT-level Charms wouldn't be hard either. Apprentice level Charms – even if the apprenticeship wasn't Charms, but Potions, was _much_ harder.

She rubbed her aching left wrist.

Now that she had two practice wands to deal with, the joy over Flitwick's trust in her potential had given way to strained sinews and several small bruises. But she did love the feel of the second wand in her left hand. It felt almost as if she were finally able to eat with both fork and knife. She giggled and drew her feet up against her body. What a silly comparison!

Theoretical herbology would be a lark. Of that she was certain. But the practical. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. She simply didn't have Neville's affinity for plants. Or Luna's … whatever it was Luna was having. Empathy?

Then something strange occurred to her. She sat up, a frown creasing her brows.

In sixth year, when Harry's potions skills had suddenly increased due to his perusal of the Half-Blood Prince's book, she'd been – well, worried about the book (and after the incident with Riddle's diary, who could blame her for that?) – but mostly she'd been plain _jealous_. She'd hated her clumsiness on a broom, too, but that had been easier to ignore. Brain vs. brawn, she could live with that. Some people had talent for dancing or Quidditch; others didn't. But when it got to book-learning, or even something to do with your hands, like preparing potions ingredients, or taking care of plants – that was different. You could _learn_ those things by practicing.

_But now …_ She knew that she could reasonably expect to ace the theoretical part of Herbology. And she'd do well in enough in the practical. However, Neville would be much better at _both_, because he just really _got_ plants. And Luna was a Ravenclaw. For all her weirdness, she was almost as good academically as Hermione. And not … Hermione huffed a little. As _uptight_ about things. Not as tense. Luna just … remained unfazed. Even if she was not quite as smart as Hermione, Luna made up for that by being more relaxed. Somehow Hermione felt that really ought to be a contradiction, but she knew it wasn't.

_Weird. _

And weirder still, she wasn't _bothered _by the fact. A thought occurred to her and she turned towards her cat, a ginger fluffball at the end of her bed.

"Crooks," she asked. "Do you think I'm growing up at last?"

The cat didn't react.

Hermione snorted. "Okay, I get it. As long as I'm even asking that question … _probably not._"

She lay back on her bed and her books, staring up at the hangings of her four poster bed. Dark blue, with tiny silver stars it was almost like looking at the sky on a summer's night.

_Potions. _

The one subject that made her stomach quiver with nerves and made her feel nauseated instantly. She fidgeted, nervously twisting her fingers this way and that, resisting the sudden urge to jump up and pace the room. But that would undo all the nice drowsiness of the Calming Draught she had taken.

_Deep breath – down to her stomach. Hold to the count of three. Concentrate on breathing out, let your body take care of inhaling. _

_Once.  
Twice.  
Three times. _

Slughorn, slimy slug that he was, had been an excellent tutor. Perusing Professor Snape's old book and Lily's Potions Diary had been a real eye-opener. And though her experiments were not getting anywhere at the moment, even just _attempting_ them, forcing herself to move beyond textbook recipes, no matter how scary that was … It had changed her outlook on the subject. It was intriguing, it was exciting. As if she was doing riddles – as if the solution was lying hidden just outside her field of vision, with the properties of possible ingredients providing the cues.

Hermione released her breath in a deep sigh.

She was fairly certain that she could take anything _the Ministry_ would throw at her.

Severus Snape was an entirely different matter, however. He was the best Potions Master the wizarding world had seen in _over a century_.

_And he did not want an apprentice._

He hated students. He'd hate having an apprentice even more. And most of all, he'd hate having her as an apprentice. Not to mention – no. It was best not to think about that. She wouldn't think about _that_ now. _Couldn't._ Or she'd have a nervous breakdown.

Her stomach lurched and she swallowed dryly.

She would simply (simply??) have to make sure that she was the best apprentice imaginable. No. She had to do more. She would have to make sure to be the best apprentice _Severus Snape_ could imagine.

And that was a task that might _just_ turn out to be impossible to master. It was also very definitely a far more frightening challenge than any NEWTs potions exam could ever be.

**oooOooo**


	24. Tell Tale Heart

**Tell-tale Heart **

She didn't even have the grace to knock. Instead, she simply cut through his shaky wards like a hot knife through butter. Standing in the middle of the wreckage that was all that remained of his sitting room, she looked at him with horrified pity in her eyes.

"Oh, Severus," McGonagall whispered.

"What do you want?" he rasped, coughed – _wheezed_ – forced himself to concentrate on his throat muscles, his stomach muscles, so he wouldn't choke, and continued in a slow, hoarse whisper. "Your precious summer academy is due to start only in a week."

Minerva ignored him, surveying the ruined room, flinching visibly when the title of a mangled book caught her eye. Snape shifted uncomfortably. He had managed to pile up the shreds in a corner, but his strength hadn't been enough to actually dispose of the remains of his library.

"Who was it?" he croaked. "Who tattled on me? That imbecilic Muggle? That Petrel woman?"

"Mrs. Petrel is an extremely sensible young lady. With a remarkable grasp of magic for a Muggle. Of course she _'tattled'_. She told Miss Granger that she was worried about you being here on your own, and Miss Granger in turn had the good sense to come to me about the matter."

"Good sense?" Severus scowled. Laughter forced its way up his throat, emerging as the sounds of a hacking cough. "Miss Granger? Who had the bad taste and idiotic idea to save my life? And the worse fortune to actually succeed?"

"Severus!"

The outraged cry afforded him a perverse satisfaction. But instead of giving him one of her famous McGonagall rants that once had reduced him to a quivering mess at age 13, she only took a deep breath and shook her head. "You don't have any idea what Miss Granger did, do you?"

He frowned, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure of renewed obligations and life-debts weighing him down.

"What?" he breathed irritably. "She saved my bloody life. And? She seems to be making rather a habit of that, too, if you look at Potter and Weasley."

"Severus." McGonagall's voice turned very soft. "How long had you been taking that snake venom before V– before Riddle threw that monster at you?"

That made him jerk up his head and meet her eyes. Caught in the disconcerting, penetrating stare of Hogwarts' new headmistress, he found that he could only tell her the truth.

"Ever since Narcissa forced that Vow on me. Dumbledore made me," he muttered. "But what has that to do with the heroics of your precious Miss Granger or her invasion of my privacy?"

Still Minerva held his gaze. "Do you know exactly _what_ Miss Granger did to save you?"

He shook his head. He didn't want to know! Wasn't it enough that she had forced him to live, when all he had wanted was death?

"She used Muggle First-Aid, Severus. _Mouth-to-mouth._ She swallowed your blood. And with it, she swallowed Nagini's venom. And _she_ hadn't tried to systematically build up at least some measure of immunity against that vile beast's poison. Her heart stopped beating twice in the first night at St. Mungo's. Her hands were completely flayed because they were drenched in your blood."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "My heart stopped three times, Mugwort was pleased to let me know, so what?"

But even he realised that his tone notably lacked conviction.

"Miss Granger visited you almost every second day while you were unconscious," McGonagall continued. "She _cares_ about you. Of course she would alert me to the fact that you are all alone in a ruin of a house, unable to take care of yourself. That is not an invasion of privacy."

_Sitting at his bedside while he was unconscious … sending McGonagall over to help him … caring about him?_ Suddenly he stared at McGonagall in shock. "Do you mean to tell me that this irritating girl has developed a crush on me? And you want her to become my _apprentice_?"

McGonagall laughed out loud and briskly shook her head. "Really, Severus. Whatever happened to your good judgement? Hermione Granger had only _one_ crush in her whole life – on poor Gilderoy when she was thirteen. Are you still holding that against her?"

"Hrmpf." He painfully cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was low and halting, but the sounds were a little smoother. "And what about Krum? And that Weasley boy?"

McGonagall sighed and sat down on the one chair still standing. "She was in love with Krum, but thankfully she was intelligent enough not to love him. Weasley she certainly loves, but I think she couldn't be _in love_ with him even if she wanted to.

"Is it so very hard to understand that someone may simply_ care_ for you?"

Snape stared at McGonagall in silence for a moment. Then he drew a ragged breath and replied honestly, "Yes, it is."

"Oh, Severus," Minerva said softly, sympathy softening the lines of her face again.

He resisted the urge to complain about that highly annoying refrain. Instead he only rubbed his aching forehead.

Pouncing on that opening like the cat that she was, McGonagall roused herself and announced briskly, "Be that as it may. You'd better get used to the fact that there are still people around who care about you. Including myself. And you're not staying here one more night. You are coming back to Hogwarts with me now. I'll send a couple of house-elves over to clean up this mess and get your things. Oh, and you can spare your throat the effort of even trying to refuse, because I will not listen to any more arguments from you today."

After a moment, "By the way, whatever happened to the houses next door? I thought there were Muggles living there?"

He winced, his shoulders slumping wearily. "There _were_," he whispered. "Immigrants. Poor, you know. Many children. Seems it wasn't healthy to have me as a neighbour."

"Oh God …"

**oooOooo**


	25. Conditions of Indenture

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Conditions of Indenture **

"Here's to Hermione!" "Miss Granger!" "Four Outstandings!" The toasts rang out, and the resident ghosts clapped their translucent hands.

At the other end of the High Table, Severus Snape, once more dressed in his customary teaching attire of black – black trousers, black frock coat, black robes – scowled bleakly. He was even paler than usual. His skin had lost the sallow tinge that might once have indicated that he'd actually be able acquire a nice tan if he'd only get out into the sunshine regularly. The bite marks of Nagini stood out against the pallor of his neck, thick, knotted scar tissue in angry reds and purples.

Minerva McGonagall shook Hermione's hands. A wave of giddy pleasure flowed over Hermione. She just couldn't stop smiling tonight. She'd even dared to smile at Professor Snape.

"We need to talk about your apprenticeship," Headmistress McGonagall informed Hermione briskly. "Are you free after dinner?"

At the mere mention of her apprenticeship Hermione's heartbeat quickened and her stomach quivered. "_Uh…_ I wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Bill – with Professor Weasley. But I can easily change arrangements."

McGonagall nodded. "I don't begrudge you your celebration, my dear. Your results are truly outstanding. But someone has to explain all the ramifications of an apprenticeship in the wizarding world to you. And as Professor Snape has made it plain that he does not wish to have an apprentice –"

"– least of all me –"

McGonagall gave her a wry grin. "There is that, too, yes. But therefore I do not think he would care to make sure you truly understand the conditions of the apprenticeship you will be entering. And if you enter a binding magical contract, you _need_ to be aware of exactly what you are doing."

Hermione's stomach felt as if a herd of hippogriffs had decided to stampede. She swallowed hard and was glad that the noise of conversations buzzing around the High Table covered what was most likely a very audible gulp.

She took another deep breath. "Yes, of course, Headmistress. I appreciate that very much."

McGonagall smiled. "Good. In my office at – shall we say 9.30?"

**oooOooo **

"Here," Minerva McGonagall said. "I have already drawn up the indenture."

The headmistress placed a large roll of parchment covered in swirls of dark green ink on the desk between them. "I'm afraid that such binding magical contracts still require you to sign them in blood."

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled the parchment a little closer to her. She'd read up about magical apprenticeships, of course. She knew that the blood signature was an essential part of the contract, but it still made her uncomfortable.

"The roots of the ceremony go back to antiquity, but the procedures in place nowadays have been formed in the Middle Ages. The medieval oaths of fealty have much in common with parts of the ceremony," McGonagall explained.

Hermione frowned. "In what way?"

She couldn't remember reading anything about that.

The headmistress gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Blood to sign you, kiss to bind you."

Hermione gulped. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"That's why I've asked you to meet me here tonight." McGonagall sighed. "Your plan – as far as it goes – is a good one. Severus would never accept help out of pity, no matter how deserved it was. He – Hermione, what we are going to talk about here tonight, I do hope that it goes without saying that it stays in this room? Not even your co-conspirators may hear of this. The only chance your plan has of succeeding is that you follow this through with the trust and honour traditionally demanded in this indenture."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Headmistress."

"I think we can move beyond this form of address," McGonagall said. "Tomorrow you will be made Severus' apprentice and as such you will be a member of the staff. My name is Minerva, as you well know."

Hermione needed a second until she was able to talk. Her heartbeat pounded so much that she could feel it in her ears. "Thank you, Minerva."

Suddenly Minerva McGonagall's smile warmed. "It's normal to be nervous, Hermione. When Albus asked me to use his first name, I panicked and almost bit off the tip of my tongue.–

"Back to Severus. You know a bit of what he's been through. Even based on the little you know, you have to be aware of the fact that he is not inclined to believe that someone might respect him, or much less care about him. That apprenticeship may give you the opportunity to win his respect as much as make him aware that you truly respect him. I fervently hope that mutual respect may give us an opportunity to convince him that marriage to you is an acceptable way of keeping him out of Azkaban at the end of his probation.

"However, I am not certain if he will agree. The question you must ask yourself today is: can you live with that risk?"

Hermione bit on her lower lip. Images that kept her awake at night crowded into her mind. Blood, so much blood. And that empty, despairing look. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to clear her mind.

"I don't know," she admitted at last. "But if it comes to that, I will have to.

"Do you know if he is going to try and find a way to … fulfil the terms of that condition on his own?"

Minerva sighed. "He won't. That's what he told me, and I have no reason to doubt him. In fact, I'm almost surprised that he has not tried to kill himself."

Hermione flinched, then she forced her attention back to the parchment in front of her. "I think I may need a few minutes to work my way through this."

The headmistress nodded. "Take your time. If you have any questions, ask them now."

Hermione bent over the coiled green script and read: _"__This indenture witnesses …"_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **I know that the canon terminology of Potions master refers only to the fact that Snape is teacher at Hogwarts. However, I personally do not see the wizarding world employing an educational system as we know it. While I believe there may be a university for further academic studies, I do believe that the most common way of magical training after school would be an apprenticeship to a Master of a special branch of magic. In that respect Snape is not only a Potions master, but a Potions Master or Master of Potions. This is (American) fanon, but I feel it ties in well with historical European traditions of craftsmanship.

For those of you interested in such details, here follows the complete "Indenture of Apprenticeship" that Hermione and Severus will sign. It is based on the wording of a historical contract of a carpenter's apprenticeship from the 17th century.

_"This indenture witnesses that **Hermione Jean Granger**, graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, _

_by and with the consent of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, _

_has put herself Apprentice to and with _

_**Severus Snape** of Spinner's End, now Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, aforesaid Potions Master, and after the manner of an apprentice, _

_with him to tarry and dwell from the day of date unto the full end and for the full term of three years from thence next and immediately following and ensueing fully to be complete, ended during all which term the said **Hermione Granger** apprentice to and with the said **Severus Snape** as her master well and faithfuly shall serve; _

_her craft and magick exercise solely on his behalf and his command, and obeye him in thought, word and deed;  
as pertaining to his craft and lore, his magick and mystery, for excellence continually shall strive and at all times shall fulfil whatever duties said master requests that she shall do or shall refrain from doing; his secrets she shall keep, his commandments lawful and honest everywhere shall do;  
hurt or damage to her said master she shall not do, nor consent to be done, but according to his power shall let and hinder or thereof her master inform. _

_Taverns or Alehouses, she shall not haunt or freequent unless it be about her master's business here to be done. All dice, cards or any other unlawful games she shall not play.  
The goods of her said master inordinately she shall not waste, nor them to anybody lend without her master's license or consent.  
Matrimony or engagement with any man during or within the said terme she shall not contract without her master's consent nor from his service neither by day or by night shall absent herself as well in words as in deeds, _

_so that said **Severus Snape** unto the said **Hermione Granger**, his apprentice in the craft, magick and mystery and occupation of a Potions Master - the which he shall use after the best manner that he can or may - shall show, teach, instruct and inform or cause to be showed, taught, instructed and informed as much as thereunto belongs or in any way appertains, and in due manner chastise her __in the craft, lore, magick and mystery__ of his Mastery,  
and that said **Severus Snape** shall never abuse or exploit said apprentice and the powers of said apprentice in any way that is unlawful according to the craft, magick and mystery and occupation,  
and that said **Severus Snape** said apprentice under his care shall protect and guard and in all respects of his craft, lore, magick and mystery and occupation shall be responsible for, and finding unto his said apprentice all pay, meat, drink, washing and lodging to as such an apprentice of such a craft, magick and mystery or occupation is accustomed to. _

_And that finally said **Severus Snape** shall bestow upon said **Hermione Granger** the badge of apprenticeship to bind himself to her in all manner of aforesaid indenture  
and that said **Hermione Granger** shall accept this badge of apprenticeshipe from said **Severus Snape** to bind herself to him in all manner of aforesaid indenture  
until either of them dies or is killed or the agreed upon term is ended according to the dates set forth in this indenture._

_In witness thereof the said master and apprentice of these present, these indentures with their hands and seals and blood have set, the thirty-first day of May, Anno Domini 1999,  
so that said apprenticeship and indenture may end on the first day of June, Anno Domini 2002. _

_Sealed, delivered, and exchanged in blood and trust in the presence of (signatures of twelve witnesses)" _


	26. The Apprenticeship Begins

**The Apprenticeship Begins **

Snape caught her after breakfast.

"Miss Granger? I need to show you your new quarters. The house-elves have already moved your belongings. You may use the rest of the day to settle in."

His voice had improved, Hermione noted. He spoke haltingly, the sounds hoarse and thin. But for all that she could understand him easily – every syllable was clearly enunciated. She smiled at him. She was so glad that her idea of calling in a Muggle speech therapist had worked out so well.

"Thank you, sir."

Snape frowned at her. "Well, come a–" he started irritably, but his voice broke when he put too much pressure on the vowel, and he coughed painfully. "Come along," he whispered, glaring at her.

Hermione tried to keep her face impassive, remembering what McGonagall had told her. _He doesn't want pity – naturally, since he _is_ a very proud man._

Following the professor as he swooped out of the Great Hall, Hermione sighed. Apprenticeship with Snape would not be easy for a Gryffindor used to basically wearing her heart out on her sleeve.

**oooOooo **

Hermione had suspected that Snape's private rooms would be in the dungeons. She was not prepared for the fact that they were actually half a level _above_ them, with wide windows and a beautiful view of the lake.

There were three entrances to the flight of rooms. At the southern end a stair descended to an age-darkened painting near Snape's office, while the door at the opposite end opened to the Slytherin common room. Roughly in the middle, an archway led to a spiral staircase that could be accessed from the office.

Hermione's room was at the southern end of the corridor, a spacious bedroom-and-study, with an adjacent bathroom. Next was a sitting room and library, followed by Snape's study, a private potions laboratory, Snape's bedroom and bathroom.

"You will not enter my personal study or the private lab without my express permission. But you _may_ feel free to peruse the library." A raised eyebrow seemed to indicate that anything else would have been an impossible demand from the resident Gryffindor bookworm, so he wouldn't even attempt to make it. "Should you require anything, the house-elf appointed to me is Nag. I assure you I shall be _very_ displeased should I discover that clothes have been provided for him in order to end his service.

"As long as you are my apprentice, you shall wear Slytherin colours in public. You may, however, dress in colours of your choice when in the privacy of these chambers. A robe for tonight's ceremony has been placed in your room."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Hermione's face burned. Her failed crusade to liberate house-elves would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. And Slytherin colours? She winced mentally. She could just imagine what Ron would say.

"A suitable amount of money for your personal needs will be deposited monthly in your Gringotts vault. I expect you to keep accounts in an orderly fashion, to be presented to me every quarter."

"Yes, sir."

**oooOooo **

Hermione, resplendent in new black Apprentice robes with emerald-green border and lining, her wild curls sleeked back into a stern bun that rivalled McGonagall's, stood in front of the Potions Master. She was acutely aware of everyone watching her, as she stood at the centre of the dais.

The nick in her left palm that had provided the blood for her signature hurt. Contact with Nagini's venom had left her hands incredibly sensitive. McGonagall rolled up the parchment and nodded to her.

Time for her oath.

Hermione swallowed hard and began, her voice shrill and shaky in her ears.

" I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to you, Severus Snape, my master, that I shall serve you well and faithfully in all matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery," she gasped for breath, "to obey your command in thought, word and deed, and to protect and to honour you and your secrets in thought, word and deed in accordance to this indenture."

Her voice wobbled slightly, but she continued, "I swear to be true in my search for knowledge and to strive for excellence in all matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery. May my words and deeds always reflect my honour and respect for you."

Black eyes met hers, captured her gaze. She found she couldn't look away as Severus Snape began to whisper his part of the oath:

"I, Severus Snape, for my part swear to you, Hermione Jean Granger, my apprentice, to provide support, opportunity and guidance for all your endeavours in the matters of craft, lore, magic and mystery, to never abuse or exploit my position in accordance to this indenture, but to meet service, honour and respect you extend to me in equal terms, and that I shall defend you with all of my powers for as long as you are dependant unto me in accordance to this indenture. As a token of the bond of apprentice unto master and master unto apprentice I give you my badge so all may know in whose service you are."

Although he spoke very slowly, the sounds pressed and obviously painful, he never wavered. When he had ended, he pulled something from his sleeve and stepped closer to her. Hermione shivered as he reached for her, attaching a green and silver badge to the lapels of her robes with remarkably gentle fingers.

Hermione was glad that Minerva had prepared her for what would happen next, or she would have certainly flinched away. She was trembling and her hands were shaking, as she inched closer towards him and raised her head to meet his lips.

The darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow her, but she still couldn't break free from his gaze. Then, very softly, she felt a velvet brush of lips on her mouth.

The kiss concluded the ceremony.

She was now apprentice to Severus Snape, Master of Potions, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The oath of apprenticeship is based on the contract included in the previous chapter and on an oath of apprenticeship used by the Society for Creative Anachronism. A medieval oath of fealty was traditionally sealed with a kiss on the mouth.


	27. Many Meetings

**Many Meetings **

Hermione had fled from the commotion at the castle that was caused by the arrival of the students who would participate in the Hogwarts Summer Academy 1999. But apparently the edge of the lake had not been quite far enough.

"Malfoy."

"Granger." He looked her up and down, taking in the emerald-green trim of her robes, the apprentice badge, the green ribbon that tied back her hair and the pale green of her blouse. "You're even braver than I thought you were. Those colours suit you."

A year ago she'd have retorted with a scathing reply. But a year ago he wouldn't have tried so hard to sound polite, as if he actually meant what he said. Maybe he even did. Worse, she knew he was right. Slytherin green suited her much better than Gryffindor red.

"Thank you. And you know me … everything for knowledge."

He shook his head. "Then why aren't you in Ravenclaw?"

She couldn't help a wry grin. "You've got me there."

"He – he's really not so bad. At least to us Slytherins," Malfoy offered. "He was always fair to us."

"More than fair, I'd say." She bit on her tongue. That wasn't _precisely_ disrespectful, was it? She'd learnt the conditions of her indenture by heart.

Now it was Malfoy's turn to smile. But although his lips curled, his eyes didn't reflect the expression.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "Well, I need to go and get my things sorted. See you around, I suppose?"

She nodded, staring after him, more than a little confused. He had certainly changed since she'd seen him the last time.

**oooOooo **

"Merlin, Hermione! Whatever are you _wearing_?" Ginny exclaimed, grabbing Hermione's arm and turning her around. Neville, Luna, Lavender and Seamus were following Ginny, their expressions betraying varying degrees of fascination or repulsion.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Unless you're colour-blind it should be fairly obvious that I'm dressed in Slytherin colours."

"Blimey, Hermione," Seamus Finnigan sputtered. "How can you stand that?"

"Well, as I'm Professor Snape's apprentice, it would hardly be appropriate for me to be dressed like a Gryffindor, wouldn't it?" Hermione replied with a certain irritation.

Lavender Brown, who'd come closer to listen to what Hermione would say, smirked, but when she spoke she sounded almost envious. "Those colours look really good on you, Hermione."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Hermione. Obviously she ended up agreeing with Lavender, for she promptly moved on to the next uncomfortable subject. "And did you just have a nice _chat_ with Malfoy?"

Hermione sighed, suddenly very grateful that neither Harry nor Ron would be returning to Hogwarts for their NEWTs. "He's not all that bad, Ginny. He did help us in the battle." She hesitated. "And I think he's been going through a hard time. You do know the conditions of the Malfoys' probation?"

The youngest Weasley frowned and shook her head. The others moved closer, obviously also unaware of those details, though they'd been covered by both the Prophet and the Quibbler at the time of the trial.

"Well, his majority has been postponed until he turns 21 – to make sure that there is time for him to … prove his willingness to mend his ways. And guardianship of Draco has been taken away from his parents. His legal guardian is Andromeda Black now, his closest surviving family member."

Ginny stared at Hermione, blinked and sputtered. "How … why … how come I _missed_ this? Why didn't my parents … does that mean he actually _lives_ with Teddy?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her friend, wondering if she'd made a mistake in telling her. But those facts had been all over the press. They were not exactly a secret – least of all Snape's secret.

"Look – don't you think it's time to leave the past behind us and move on?" Hermione's head was starting to hurt. "I know that we Gryffindors can bear a grudge for all eternity, but …"

"He _did_ help us in the end," Neville stated.

Ginny glared at Neville, but there was something in the young man's calm gaze that made her relent. "If he behaves himself, I guess I can do the same. – Hey, if you know about what happened to Draco, do you know the conditions for his parents' probation as well?"

"Indeed I do," Hermione replied and couldn't help grinning."The Malfoys have to work at St. Mungo's for three years, their money was seized and given to charities, all their house-elves were liberated, _and_ they've been spelled so they can't do any magic _at all_ for three years."

"Now that's sweet," Neville said dreamily. "Just imagine Narcissa scouring chamber pots the Muggle way …"

"So what it's like to be Snape's apprentice?" Luna asked, blithely ignoring all talk of old enemies and clothes.

"It's Professor Snape, Luna. I can't really say yet," Hermione replied. "The ceremony only took place on Monday."

Just two days ago. Her mind whirled when she thought of the ritual. She knew it had been only a required part of the ceremony, but for some reason she couldn't forget the way his lips had felt on her mouth. So … _gentle … _

Quickly she continued, so the others wouldn't notice the heat rising in her cheeks. "I'll be teaching remedial Potions and Charms to the Second Years and I'll have study groups to supervise with Third Years and Fourth Years. Apart from that I have to study on my own, I've been recruited to brew basic potions for Madam Pomfrey _and_ I've got to come up with a practical project for Professor Snape to supervise."

"That sounds fair beastly," Neville said with admiration in his voice.

Hermione shrugged, but couldn't help feeling a bit pleased. "Oh, you know me, Neville. The greatest possible challenge and all …"

Lavender snorted. "You really _are_ a masochist, Hermione. But as the saying goes – it takes all sorts to make a world. So have you guys any ideas yet about which subjects you want to take for your NEWTs?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **I think that the battle (and having been seriously injured in it) would also have an effect on Lavender. I think that - like the others - she'd be more mature now. And to Hermione's delight, more willing to actually learn something.

Rowling said in an interview that the Malfoys walk away free. She never said anything about probation or the conditions thereof. Okay, I admit it - I simply want to be able to think of Draco changing Teddy's nappies. ;-)

The title of the chapter alludes to a chapter in "Lord of the Rings", of course.


	28. Not a Student Anymore

**Not a Student Anymore **

Severus Snape stared out of the window. His throat hurt, his temples were throbbing. He had an apprentice. He was at Hogwarts. Oh, and he was alive when he really should be past all of those irritations.

In other words, Severus Snape was in a _very _bad mood.

At the edge of the lake, a lone figure was walking away from the castle. He narrowed his eyes. Granger? Could it be that the chaos inside the castle had become too much for her, as well? Definitely. He knew that purposeful stride. Hermione Granger. Resident Gryffindor … what had he always called her? He frowned. It was more than a year since he'd encountered her in class for the last time. He would never forget her overeager hand waving, of course. Or her tendency to disrupt the pace he set for his lessons. But beyond that …

… right: _"know-it-all"_. That's what he'd called her.

As he watched her making her way along the lake, he wondered if she still was. Observing her, he remembered how her lips had felt under his … so soft, so smooth, but still firm. If he was to believe Minerva (and he had no reason not to), those lips would have been the last thing he could have felt on this earth. He sighed. If he'd been at all conscious, that wouldn't have been all that bad.

_No. _

_No._ What was he thinking? She was his _apprentice_. He must _not _think of her lips. It was only a ritual. An ancient, time-honoured ritual.

He turned his attention back to the lake. She was no longer alone at the lakeside. He narrowed his eyes and scowled. _Of course._ Her little Gryffindor friends had arrived today. Naturally she _had_ to meet up with them right away. _Damn and damn again. _

And he hadn't had a chance to talk with her about appropriate behaviour as a member of the staff. Well, _that_ should prove to be interesting. He would get a good idea of just how much she had matured in a very short time. He didn't expect much of her, to be honest.

No matter how sweet that kiss had tasted.

**oooOooo **

"Miss Granger. How _good_ of you to return to your quarters before midnight."

Hermione jerked away and almost fell backwards down the stairs. She would have, probably, if an arm slung across her back hadn't caught her in time. She gasped and pulled away, leaning against the cold wall of the corridor for support.

"I – I – am sorry, sir. I was not aware that I had to observe a curfew."

Black eyes blazed at her in the flickering light of torches.

"No," he whispered. "I guess you were not.  
"There are things we need to discuss. We can do so in the morning. Or … at your convenience … _now_."

Hermione stared at her master, unbalanced, scared. _I chose this,_ she thought distantly. _This is what I wanted. This is what I_ have _to do. _

"Any time," she managed.

"Good," he replied. But he didn't seem satisfied.

He led the way to the library. She already loved the room – filled with books from floor to the ceiling, what was there _not_ to love about it?

"Sit."

She obeyed, perching on the edge of an armchair, while he loomed over her, black robes throwing even darker shadows at this time of the night.

"It has come to my notice that you have been … in the company of students today. That is not permissible." He sounded angry, almost disgusted.

"What?" she exclaimed, instantly outraged. She hadn't expected anything good, as tense as he'd been when he'd greeted her. But that?

_Wait. _She bit her tongue. She was tired and not at her best this late in the evening. But … She stared at him. Did he have a _reason_ for being angry with her?

"Not even a week, Miss Granger? And already I need to remind you of the conditions of the contract you signed? And with your own life's blood, too?" Snape bent down to face her. "Trust me, you do not want me to chastise you as is my right according to said contract," he hissed.

She stared at him and couldn't help feeling scared. Those burning eyes. _I've seen worse. So much worse. And I want to be here. I _want_ to be here. With him. Right. So what's the problem with me hanging around with students? _It was hard to concentrate with him looming over her so dark and threatening. _Students. And I. But I'm not a student anymore._  
_Oh.  
I'm not a student anymore._

"But they are my friends," she murmured and raised her eyes towards him, confused and worried.

To her surprise, he didn't hiss at her again, but simply sat down on the other armchair, inhaling deeply – as if she _were_ just another student trying his patience beyond the bearable limit. And she guessed she was. She hadn't thought. She should have asked him, right away, about how she ought to behave now that she wasn't a student anymore. How could she have been so stupid?

"You, Miss Granger," Snape said wearily, "are no longer a student. You are a member of the staff. You will teach your first class next week. No matter if they are your friends or not, you cannot … _'hang around'_ with them anymore."

Hermione winced, closing her eyes. She'd been looking forward to seeing Neville, Luna and Ginny again. "I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't realise."

"That much is painfully obvious."

"May I not ever see – meet – them again?"

"Oh, merciful Mephistopheles!" Snape groaned. "For one, they won't stay students until the end of time. And I suppose you _may_ invite them to meet you here, in your quarters – _or_ you can meet them in Hogsmeade when you're free of a weekend."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione whispered, ashamed.

He just shook his head at her. "Now go," he said. "Just go. Go to bed."

**oooOooo**


	29. Slytherin Colours and Order Business

**Slytherin Colours and Order Business**

"As this is an official Order meeting," Snape said softly, "It behooves you to be dressed as my apprentice. We are not going to Grimmauld Place to enjoy ourselves."

Hermione glared at him, but she had expected that. "Of course, sir."

Her master frowned, as if her reaction had taken him by surprise, and she had a hard time suppressing a small smirk. When he quirked a black eyebrow at her, she knew she hadn't succeeded and allowed herself a broad grin.

"Whenever you are ready?" Snape drawled.

Her grin smoothed into a smile – his voice was getting better. If he was gentle on his voice, she could almost hear her old teacher again.

"Just a moment, sir, I'll need my cloak." She hastened into her room and returned with her newly transfigured cloak. Solid black before, it was now a deep Slytherin green with a silver clasp shaped like a snake-like dragon to fasten it.

Snape's frown deepened.

**oooOooo**

Soon they were hurrying away from the castle, keeping their heads down against the downpour of what passed for summer rain in the Highlands. When they reached the edge of the grounds, Hermione was soaked.

"Really, girl, why didn't you cast an _Impervious _Charm?" Snape grizzled.

Shivering, Hermione ducked hear head in embarrassment. "I – the transfiguration has to settle in the fabric first – sorry, sir."

Snape shook his head, but didn't comment on her foolishness. Instead he whipped out his main wand and cast a quick drying charm over her. Warmth enveloped her.

"Ahh…" she sighed gratefully.

But when he put his arm around her for Side-Along Apparition, she shivered again, although Snape's body generated still more heat than the charm – even through his thick teacher's robes. She had just a moment to inhale his scent. _Very male and very mysterious_, she thought, _vetyver, bergamot, possibly neroli._

Then the familiar CRACK split the air (and very nearly Hermione's ears) and they were gone.

**oooOooo**

They arrived arm in arm, appearing in a grey square that could have won prizes in a stock photo competition for urban decay.

Cracked plaster in various shades of grey revealed brick structures erected in another century. Paint peeled from doors. Windows were broken or even boarded up, and piles of rubbish in the gutter indicated that a visit of the dustmen was long overdue. It wasn't raining yet in London, but the low clouds and dreary light indicated that it was only a question of time until it would start to drizzle.

For a moment neither of them moved, then Snape stepped away from Hermione and briskly turned to the black door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Inside they were met by Molly Weasley, whose eyes widened in surprise as she took in the new colour scheme of Hermione's robes.

When Hermione glared at her, Ron's mother blushed.

"Those colours really suit you, dear," she assured Hermione, more than a little flustered. "A beautiful green, really."

"Then why don't _you_ wear that hue once in a while, too, _really_?" Snape suggested testily, indicating to Hermione that she should move along.

"Oh – _uh_ – it might go well with my hair, I suppose," Molly stammered. Then she pulled herself together and continued in a more business-like fashion, "The meeting will be held in the library. Hermione, Harry and Ron are already there. Professor – Healer Mugwort is waiting for you in the kitchen."

"What?" Snape bit out. "Am I to be hounded by healers even when I'm occupied with Order business?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Molly hastened to assure apologetically. "I – _uh_ – assume Minerva thought this would be the most efficient way of – _uh_ – providing you the opportunity of regular check-ups.

"Believe it or not, we _have _been worried about you."

**oooOooo**

When Hermione entered the library, she was met with identical expressions of shock and consternation in very different faces.

Green eyes blinked at her like an over-sized owl.

A generous spattering of freckles paled on round cheeks, while a rather big mouth dropped open.

"What?" Hermione snapped. "What did you expect? I'm the apprentice of the head of Slytherin house. It would hardly be appropriate for me to wear anything but Slytherin colours."

Harry stared at her as if she were a ghost. Then he swallowed and attempted to speak, but Hermione would have none of it. "And don't you _dare_ to tell me that those colours really suit me. I've heard that from just about everybody already and I don't need to hear it again. I know that I look good in green!"

**oooOooo**

"We have had excellent leads on at least five Death Eaters who were trying to hole up in three different countries.

"And now, from one day to the next, they are gone without a trace. Our sources have clammed up and claim that they have no new information about their whereabouts. It's as if they've vanished into thin air," Sturgis Podmore concluded his report.

Minerva McGonagall frowned. "That is indeed very worrying. Thank you, Sturgis.

"Arthur? Would you, please?"

Arthur Weasley nodded and cleared his throat. "The ministry's stance is that the SSS – the International Confederacy's Secret Service for Sorcerers – is best equipped to deal with runaway Death Eaters.

"Shacklebolt has been after me to support his plan to disband the Order at the end of this year. Mind, I can understand where he's coming from – the pureblood faction of the Wizengamot has been giving him hell, and there are many Ministry Officials who do not sympathise with _uh…_ the Order's mode of operation. But I have to admit, I don't much care for this plan."

"Neither do I," Snape agreed in a soft voice. He was speaking very slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable.

_He doesn't want them to know how badly his voice was hurt,_ Hermione realised with a start.

"So many Death Eaters should not have been able to escape our pursuit at one and the same time," Snape continued. "Not without assistance."

"But who would help them?" Hestia Jones asked fearfully.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Snape's scent is based on my favourite scent for men by L'Occitane en Provence, "Vetyver".


	30. Party Time at Slytherin House

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Party Time at Slytherin House **

He opened the door and allowed her to step through into the Slytherin common room. Once inside, Hermione couldn't help staring. She'd been in here a few times since she'd become Snape's apprentice, and had come to appreciate its strangely comfortable mixture of austere elegance and subterranean shabbiness.

Tonight, however, the room was unrecognizable: Slytherin house was having a party.

Witch lights illuminated the room, cast pillars of light through the skylights into the lake and flashed like spotlights in a disco. Silvery spider nets glittered above a bar that took up one entire side of the room in front of the fireplace. At the opposite end of the dungeon a raised platform had been transfigured into a lounge area, complete with green armchairs and settees. The space in between was empty, ready to serve as a dance floor.

Hermione gaped.

And she was not the only one. Several Slytherins, who were busy at the bar, arranging bottles and glasses, were staring at her. Others, who were working on transfiguring some last minute decorations (enchanting spiders to dance and making a skull's eyes blink in emerald-green) plain gawked. And Pansy Parkinson looked as if she'd swallowed a streeler.

"Sir!" Pansy exclaimed reproachfully, turning to Snape.

The potions master directed a withering glare at the young woman.

"Not one word," he snarled hoarsely.

Hermione flinched. She didn't particularly care for spending an evening in the company of inimical Slytherins.

But Snape was already circling the room, subjecting the decorations to close scrutiny. Now and again he flicked out his main wand, and a pale glimmer indicated the use of a detection spell. Twice at the bar and once on the dance floor, he hissed at one or another of his Slytherins, who promptly removed whatever magical prank had caused the displeasure of their head of house.

Hermione remained near the portray that covered the entrance to Snape's quarters, trying to ignore the dirty looks Pansy kept throwing at her, or how some Sixth Years at the bar whispered among themselves, even pointing fingers in a way that didn't match the Slytherin reputation for subtlety.

When Snape returned to Hermione's side, he looked satisfied.

"Sir," she started, "maybe it would be better if I didn't …"

"What? Stay?" He frowned at her and was no doubt about to reprimand her, when quickly hushed smirks at the bar caught his attention, causing Snape to direct his scowl at his students instead of at Hermione.

"You are _my_ apprentice," he told her. "You stay.  
"If those dunderheads have a problem with that, they are free to spend the evening in the solitude of their rooms. And you needn't worry that any of them will dare to hex you in the face. Not as long as I'm present.  
"However," Snape added with a slight sneer, "I would not advise you to eat or drink anything that I haven't inspected first."

Hermione gulped. "Very well, sir."

**oooOooo **

The clock above the fireplace chimed eight. Issuing from four black boxes in the corners of the dungeon, music started with a beat that made the dungeons shake around Hermione.

At the first well-known riff, Hermione spun around to face Snape, her mouth open in shock. Black eyes glittered with thinly veiled amusement. He obviously enjoyed the effect the Slytherins' choice of music had on her.

"I guess I knew that you don't care for the Weird Sisters," Hermione muttered.

Snape smirked. "Just an advance warning – should you feel the need to discuss the origins of this music with certain pureblood students, or with anyone from another house for that matter, you will find yourself remarkably tongue-tied."

Hermione stared at her master for another moment, before she lost control and started giggling. To her surprise, Snape's sneer broadened into an almost wolfish smile. He moved closer to her so he could whisper into her ear, "It's a not very well-kept secret, but Slytherin house throws the best parties at Hogwarts."

She wasn't sure what distracted her more, inhaling his scent again (vetyver, definitely bergamot, cypress and something else that escaped her at the moment) or by a volley of bats circling above her head that had been charmed to blink with green and silver lights.

She could only nod.

Snape must have waited for her momentary inattention, for he gripped her hand and drew her against him, even as he stepped out onto the dance floor. His black hair flew as he moved to the rhythm, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione – flustered, surprised, clumsy – stumbled, caught herself, was pulled close to him, then pushed away again … clearly Snape knew what he was doing – dancing _discofox_ of all things! When her mind finally caught up with her feet, she managed to growl at him when the dance brought their bodies close.

"But you _don't_ dance!" she accused him furiously. "You _never_ dance!"

His answering smirk was positively devilish. "I never dance in _public_," he replied. "Not everything is as it seems, Hermione. You, my dear disciple, need to develop some appreciation for subtlety."

She twirled, stepped, skipped, swayed into his arms. Together they moved forwards, then he spun her away from his body again.

**oooOooo **

"You might have warned me," she complained later, when they were standing at the bar.

"Here – cider for you, Guinness for me." He raised his glass to her.

If this hadn't been Snape, Hermione would have said that a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes.

"I might have," he agreed easily. "But it was much more fun not to warn you."

Hermione felt her brows knit together. Snape – _Severus_ Snape – was talking about _fun_? Surely the world was coming to an end. And there was no mistaking his expression now. Her dour master was decidedly _amused_ by her reaction to his sneaky ambush.

"You may, of course," Snape continued in his best lecturer's tone, "keep in mind for future reference that the head of house always has the first and the last dance at Slytherin parties."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The first song at the party is "Summer of 69" by Bryan Adams.

I believe that Snape could be very different within the safety of Slytherin house. And while many dark wizards came from Slytherin, I don't think that Slytherin equals evil. Indeed, I think that it must have been rather hard to be Slytherin at Hogwarts during Hermione's time. There does seem to be a lot of anti-Slytherin bias and encouragement of the "us vs. them"-mentality. I'm trying to show a bit of the inside of Slytherin house. They are not as bad as all that, but neither are they cheerful, happy-go-lucky Gryffindors.

Snape liking Muggle-rock music is, of course, completely my invention. I think he'd rather die than admit to that preference and he'd be sneaky enough to spell the origin of the music "unspeakable".

Discofox is a European disco-dance from the Seventies that is still quite popular in Germany. I figured that Snape might have learned it while at Hogwarts himself, and Hermione might have encountered her during her holidays in the Muggle world. Though I bet wizards do more interesting steps than Muggles.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	31. Morning After

**Morning After **

At breakfast the next day Hermione was decidedly the worse for wear. Bleary-eyed and headachy, she clung to the edge of the table, hard put to prevent her lips from breaking into an ear-splitting yawn.

She knew that Snape had had even less sleep. He had stayed up until dawn – patrolling the Slytherin quarters once an hour after the end of the party.

And quite effectively, too: he'd thrown a Seventh Year boy out of the Sixth Year's girls' bedroom (though Hermione had the distinct feeling that Snape was quite impressed with how Ciardha Vaisey had worked his way around the charms that were supposed to keep boys from ever setting foot inside the girls' dungeons), he'd broken up a magical spin-the-bottle game in the broom-cupboard and escorted a Fifth Year girl who'd decided that she was plenty old enough to handle Ogden's Firewhisky to Madam Pomfrey in order to have her stomach lining restored.

In spite of all that, Snape looked just the way he always did: pale, bad-tempered, and disgustingly awake.

Minerva had at least a sympathetic smile for her. "Slytherin house party?"

Hermione nodded carefully while she looked longingly at the mug in front of her, willing it to fill up with coffee instead of tea.

"Ahhh…" Madam Hooch let out a nostalgic sigh. "Those were the days. Slytherin parties were already infamous when I started at Hogwarts. Did you have fun?"

Yellow eyes focused on Hermione who didn't feel at all up to this disconcerting scrutiny.

_Did she have fun?_ Hermione frowned, mentally going over the previous night. She'd danced with her master. She'd danced with _Snape_! Not once, but twice. She'd also danced with Malfoy. And she'd done the _Magicarena_ with a whole gaggle of Slytherin goslings – Second and Third Years. She'd rolled into her bed at 2 am.

_Actually …_ She put her mug down and beamed at Madam Hooch.

"You know," Hermione said slowly, "I really had a lot of fun."

**oooOooo **

"Here," Snape rasped. "A table spoon ought to suffice. Merlin, don't _look_ at me like that! I'm not about to poison my own apprentice. It is only a basic Invigoration Draught. How you survived the war if a single late night has you looking so peaky is really quite beyond me."

He directed one of his most intimidating scowls at her.

"Trust me, Miss Granger, I did not enjoy last night any more than you did. But my … _Slytherin house expects_ its head of house to uphold certain customs and traditions. And it seemed expedient to exploit the opportunity to bolster your position with my Slytherins. You will need every help you can get if you're supposed to teach them one day." He sniffed. "Not that I necessarily think you will get very far no matter how much help I can provide for you."

When Hermione just stared at him, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling of the dungeon, muttering darkly under his breath.

"You didn't honestly expect that I consider _silly _children's dances and those pitiful attempts at partying by hormone-controlled teenagers as … what would you call it? Oh, yes," his voice softened into a supercilious sneer, "_'fun'_ would be the term that you and your Gryffindor cronies use for such exceedingly _mature_ examples of entertainment as the one we had to suffer through last night, wouldn't it? But surely you – as you are no longer a student anymore – have at long last moved beyond such ridiculous notions, haven't you?"

Snape didn't wait for a reply, but spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving Hermione to stare after him in horror. The last she saw of him was a swirl of black robes as he strode down the corridor towards his office.

**oooOooo **

Much later Hermione shuffled wearily into Snape's private library and slumped down into an armchair. From beyond the door that connected the room with study, she heard the low, strangled sound of her master's voice.

"I am not going to do that – that – that is completely –"

"Preposterous?" Lois Petrel sounded amused. "Was that the word you wanted?"

Hermione allowed herself a faint grin. She'd love to be a spider at the ceiling of that dungeon right now. She could just imagine Professor Snape's expression when faced with the Muggle-woman's peculiar mixture of patience and insistence, coupled with a notable lack of apprehension where a certain potions master was concerned.

A harsh hacking sound indicated that Snape was trying to clear his throat. Snape – at a loss for words?

"No, don't do that," Lois interrupted and launched into an eloquent explanation of how Snape should have a sip of water instead of clearing his throat and overstraining his vocal cords.

"So what did you want to say earlier, professor?" Petrel asked at last.

_"Huh?"_

A pause.

"Silly," he admitted grudgingly.

"Really? Surely you can do better than that, sir. What's so bad about _'silly'_?"

The silence stretched out for a long moment. Then, to Hermione's surprise, Snape answered:

"_'Silly' _is dangerous. It leaves you weak and exposed. It provides an opening for your enemies to hurt you and those that you …" He choked, and Hermione could hear the effort it took him to follow Petrel's instructions on how to clear his throat. "That you care about. It is best to avoid situations which …"

"Cause you to let down your guard?" Petrel sighed. "Sir, I don't know anything about you, and next to nothing about your world, about my daughter's new world. And I'm only a speech therapist, not a psychologist. But … the war is over. You've won. The enemy is dead and gone. Maybe it's time for you to learn how to be silly again? To have a bit of _fun_ now and then?"

"What good would that do?" Snape asked, his voice strained and weary.

"Well," Lois continued briskly, "as far as this _'silly' _exercise is concerned that you find so repugnant, it might help you to get back the voice you once had."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Some discussion about Snape's behaviour inside Slytherin house may be found in my forums here at FFNet (the link may be found at the top of my profile page).


	32. Teacher, Teacher, Toil and Trouble

**Teacher, Teacher, Toil and Trouble **

She must have dozed off, because the next sound Hermione heard was Snape's smooth voice near her ear as he asked, "Did the sweet children tire you out already? Why, but it's only your third day! I cannot imagine a heroine of the war to give up quite that quickly."

Hermione blinked – trying to go from sleepy exhaustion to witty repartee within a few seconds, and failing miserably. All she could see were his dark eyes, black and fathomless, and his gaze made her stomach flutter. For fleeting moment she the horrible suspicion overwhelmed her that he knew exactly what an effect he was having on her. Then her ears caught up with her eyes, and she realised that his voice sounded ever so much better. Almost like the silky-tongued potions master of her school days. Had he attempted that _'silly' _exercise after all?

She couldn't help smiling, a befuddled, sleepy, honest, happy smile.

A smile that made him frown and draw back instantly, and suddenly she was wide awake with her heart racing and her mind in desperate circles: _mustn't think mustn't think mustn't let him see mustn't let him see how I how I – that I – _

Somehow she managed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

"I'm not," she said. "And yes, they did. How did you survive so long?"

Too tired for diplomacy and too Gryffindor for subtlety, she added, "More precisely, how did you survive _me_?"

The mere thought of Ravenclaw smartarse Pearl Shynnyng was enough to make her feel nauseated. And the girl was only _one_ rather small Second Year, compared to a whole group of sullen teenagers interested in anything _but _study groups.

The corners of Snape's mouth quivered. Then he gave in to the impulse and snorted. In better days the sound might have been a chuckle.

"There's one of your kind in every other class. Along with a Neville and hopefully only one specimen of Weasley twins. Oh, and we mustn't forget a pair like Potter and Draco, of course. Though I should probably warn you now – you can count yourself lucky if you get them as boys. Boys are less studious and much more obvious than girls."

Hermione blanched.

Snape smirked, but his reply was almost gentle: "Don't worry, Miss Granger. If you're merely weary to your bones, if the classroom is not in ruins and less than ten pupils are in the hospital wing, you have done very well indeed for your third day."

"But I don't think they learnt anything today at all," she moaned.

She knew she didn't have the perfect personality for a career as a teacher – she was too impatient, she hated having to repeat herself. But to fail at such an important aspect of her tasks as Professor Snape's apprentice … If she didn't even manage teaching basic potions to a horde of Second Years, how could she ever hope to …

"Welcome to your life as a teacher at Hogwarts," the potions master said dryly.

**oooOooo **

She dropped her wands again, her face screwing up as if she was close to tears.

Snape was ready to snap at his apprentice, when something about the way she'd winced when the larger wand had struck her palm, how she couldn't keep her fingers from twitching now and again, registered with him belatedly.

Minerva's words came back to him, _"Her hands were completely flayed because they were drenched in your blood." _

_Shite. _

He ought to have remembered that. The only reason he hadn't snarled her to hell and back or even chastised her as was his right was that he was so bloody tired himself today. She ought to have told him.

Why hadn't she told him?  
Bloody Gryffindor stubbornness.  
Why did she so desperately want to impress him?

_… she wanted to impress him? _

"He–" He was about to clear his throat, when he remembered Petrel's admonitions. Instead he only swallowed painfully. "Miss Granger? Could it be … "

He shook himself. Her hands, wet with his blood, with his blood and Nagini's venom. Snape heaved a sigh. He had to do better than that.

"I was informed that your hands were injured when you saved my life. Is it possible that there are some after-effects that impair your performance with your wands?"

Her wands, one moment held loosely in her hand, cluttered to the ground once more. She was deathly pale as she stared at him.

_After-effects, my arse,_ he thought, and bent down to retrieve her wands. It was not something he would normally do, touching the wands of another wizard, but Hermione looked as if she was about to faint.

Somehow in the process birch touched yew.

The energy and wisdom of two sphinx feathers mingled and flowed into him, soothing and golden, overwhelming him, blurring the world before his eyes.

He would have fallen, but for Hermione's hand catching him just in time. He heard her suck in her breath in agony, then the power found her – recognised her – and flowed through his body into hers, drawing them together and drenching them with warmth and light. When the flow of magic ebbed away, he felt as breathless as if he'd just played a round of really fast Quidditch, or crazily made love to a beautiful woman.

"I didn't know that the core of your wand is made of a sphinx feather," he said slowly.

She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before. "I – I – I'm sorry –"

He shook his head. "I should have asked," he said softly.

Carefully he laid their wands on the table and reached for her. Clasping her gently around the wrists, he pulled her hands towards him.

He stared at those hands. They were slender and very white, perfectly healed. Nothing reminded of what they must have looked like, stripped down to raw flesh by the touch of his blood.

"I can give you a salve for your hands," he whispered.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Huge special thanks go to:

- Aranel Took, for help with plotting even though she doesn't like the pairing of Hermione/Snape.  
- Whitehound for nitpicking and britpicking, thank you so much for catching all those details!  
- zeegrindylows for the bouncing of ideas and enthusiastic encouragement. Also: check out her epic Hermione/Snape story, "Where Your Treasure Is", it's brilliant!


	33. The First Days

**The First Days **

_(A piece of frayed parchment, the writing is messy with spots of ink where the writer didn't know how to continue.)_

Oi 'mione,

You had to go to a Slytherin house party? And you really couldn't poison them? Let me know when you go again, I'll send you a supply of special Wheezes free of charge.

Also, how come that Snape's being so hard on you??

Harry showed me your last letter to him (& how come you write different stuff to Harry than to me?) and I was ready to Apparate to Hogwarts so I could challenge the Great Git to a proper duel. Only Harry reminded me that you can't Apparate straight to Hogwarts and then he shouted at me how Snape is "one of us" and how I just don't understand and well, I guess I would have lost that duel anyway.

I guess Harry's right. I don't really understand. I mean, I know what you've told me, but _(several scratched out words)_.

I do miss you, you know?

Sometimes I almost wish it could be the way it was before, only of course who would want that. This is not what I imagined things would be like. Accountancy is even worse than Binns. But someone needs to do it, I guess.

George & Lee say hi.

Talk to you soon,

Ron

**oooOooo **

"You're brewing WHAT in my classroom?"

"A _uhm…_ a bubbly bathing potion. _Uh…_ based on Muggle herbal remedies. _Uh…_ Soothing, you know. But … I …" She knew she wouldn't be able to conceal her motivation in attempting the kind of experiments she was currently engaged in.

"I have trouble sleeping," she explained. "And I hate proper sleeping potions. They – they mess with my mind. And I know I have to learn how to experiment if I want to make it as a potions apprentice, so I figured I might just as well try coming up with something that would help me."

Snape's fingers strayed to the bridge of his nose. Hermione winced at the sure-fire sign for a seriously irritated the Potions Master.

"The recipe," he demanded wearily.

Hermione gulped, but handed it over without hesitation. She knew it by heart in any case: 2 cups of milk, powdered, 1/2 cup of Epsom salt, coarse, 1/2 cup baking soda, 5 drops of rose oil, and jasmine oil, 4 of musk oil and 3 of ylang-ylang.

"Tell me what you've done so far."

"I've been trying to substitute magical substances for the ordinary ones," Hermione mumbled.

"You've been doing WHAT?"

Hermione flinched.

"It wouldn't work the way I wanted," she mumbled.

"Merlin's bollocks, _of course not_, a herbal bath is …" He shook his head. "A herbal bath is a herbal bath. You can't just randomly substitute ingredients. Successful experiments require a stringent test methodology.

"To start with – every _single one_ of the ingredients in your recipe already _has_ its own unique magical powers."

She blinked at him. Professor Snape looked ready to pull out his hair at the roots and strangle her with it. He sighed deeply.

"Tell me about the magical properties of unicorn horn."

"_Uh…_ ever since Ctesias wrote his ground-breaking treatise on the use of unicorn-horn around 479 before Christ, its medicinal use has remained unchallenged. It's a powerful purifying agent, highly effective against most common poisons. It offers protection against convulsions and epilepsy. Since the Middle Ages it has also been used to combat plague, to cure fevers and the bites of snakes or dogs with rabies. 1678 William Salmon wrote a lengthy essay that advertised using it undiluted – at ten grains per dosage – against plague, pestilence and poison, but also against measles and small pox, which didn't work out well, causing rather phenomenal side effects. At the end of the 17th century Nicholas Culpeper investigated the use of unicorn horn to aid magical births. And in the 18th century Pierre Pomet revolutionized the distillation of unicorn horn, using the most highly diluted potency to the greatest possible effect."

"Yes, yes, yes – that is quite sufficient. Now … what can you tell me about the magical properties of nutmeg?"

"NUTMEG?!"

**oooOooo **

At long last Hermione closed her books. Or rather, not her books. One was a cookbook her mother had … well, _left her, _she supposed. The other was a copy of Culpeper's famous herbal. And surprise, surprise, he'd had a lot to say about simple, down-to-earth nutmeg.

She felt so stupid. So utterly, _utterly_ stupid.

How could she have spent six years in Snape's potions class and learned … next to nothing? How could she have walked away with outstanding NEWTs and have developed such a pro-magical bias she'd become blind? And her knowledge of proper test methodology – well, _deficient_ didn't even begin to cover it.

And her _damn_ hands.

One clumsy flick with her wand, one moment of flinching … and her cauldron had not only exploded, but also caused her and Snape to spout ylang-ylang scented bubbles from their ears. She moaned into her pillow. How should the formidable Potions Master ever come to respect her, if his bed ended up soaked by bath bubbles due to her incompetence? And she'd been so sure that her idea was a good one. A _creative _one.

She inhaled deeply, another groan on her lips, when her nostrils flared.

_Nutmeg._

Suddenly she realised it was another component of her master's personal scent. Vetyver, bergamot, cypress. And homely, not at all harmless nutmeg.

**oooOooo **

"Sorry I couldn't invite you so far," Hermione said. "But what with the Slytherin house party and Professor Snape discovering my experiments it just didn't work out."

"That's okay," Luna reassured her, while examining the Slytherin snakes curled around the fireplace in Hermione's room. "School's keeping us busy, too."

"Yes," agreed Neville glumly. "They really meant what they said with that _'accelerated'_ programme."

"Oh my gosh," exclaimed Ginny. "You've got an underwater window in your bathroom? How cool is that?!"

"It gets better," Hermione said sourly. "There's one in the toilet, too. And when you forget to draw the curtains you can just bet that a merman swims along to look in on you."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The uses of unicorn horn are based on the essay _"The use of unicorn horn in medicine"_ by William Jackson, The Pharmaceutical Journal, Vol 273, No 7330, p925-927, 18/25 December 2004.

The recipe for the bathing lotion is based on one I found online at Magick Recipes _dot _Com.


	34. All Sorted!

**All Sorted! **

He woke drenched in sweat, his right hand curled painfully around his left forearm. For a while he lay motionless in the darkness. Then he reached for his wand and cast a quick _Lumos_.

Snape inhaled deeply. Then he forced himself to look. _Nothing._Just faded black lines. Voldemort was gone. He would not come back. It was just a tattoo now, not a Mark.

He stared at the ribbed vault of the ceiling. His subconscious had a plethora of nightmares to draw from. Why need it be this one? He knew that dream so well. For more than nine years it had tortured him in the past – before it had become reality once more.

One thing was sure: he wouldn't endure this nightmare for three years. The dream had to go. And if other options failed, he would move up his plans. _Damn._ He would have enjoyed three peaceful years. He would have liked to provide Hermione Granger with the apprenticeship the bright young witch deserved. He frowned. _'Like'_ was the wrong word; he did not _'like' _having that Gryffindor as his apprentice. She was merely useful.

But for some reason no better term would come to him.

**oooOooo **

"So they'll put an old hat on Alina and it will look into her mind and then it will talk and tell everyone what her House is?"

Hermione smiled. "I know that sounds weird, but yes, that's it."

"Hmm." Lois looked frankly dubious. "Tell me about the Houses again."

"Well, there are four. Gryffindor – that was my House – Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each House has a noble history, and the members of each House are supposed to have certain traits of character and talents. Hufflepuffs are patient and loyal, Ravenclaws are smart and disciplined, Gryffindors are brave and honest and Slytherins are powerful and cunning. Of course that's a bit of rubbish, really. There are brave Slytherins and patient Ravenclaws.

"Your House is like a home away from home, almost like a second family."

"And a bit of competition increases that feeling," Lois suggested. "It knits the community closer together."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I guess it does."

"Your Professor Snape, what was his House?"

"Slytherin." Hermione sighed.

"Is that bad?"

Hermione contemplated the question for a moment. Then she shook her head, remembering what Healer Mugwort had told her.

"No," she replied. "Only some of my friends haven't quite grown beyond the stage of inter-house rivalry yet. They don't really understand why I should want to be his apprentice."

"Or how you'd come to care about him?"

"What?!"

"Hermione, I am not blind!"

**oooOooo **

Hermione never dreamed the same nightmare twice. Her subconscious was much more creative than her waking mind. Endless variations of horror crept into her slumber almost every night.

She didn't dare to use Dreamless Sleep often. No more than once a month, when she had to be extra-alert in the morning – for example when a double brewing session featured Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same dungeon.

The other nights Hermione kept a comforting witchlight in a glass on her nightstand and tried out various Muggle herbal remedies.

Awake once more, she mentally went over the ingredients of the calming tea she had brewed that evening: aniseed, balm, calendula, caraway, fennel, passion flowers, peppermint, peels of rose hips, rosemary, valerian roots.

Drawing on what she had memorized from Culpeper's herbal and a fat Muggle tome about homeopathy, Hermione tried to recall everything she knew about each ingredient. Professor Snape had stated clearly that she would only be allowed near a cauldron for experimental purposes again when she knew every little detail about every ingredient, be it Muggle or magical.

_… Valerian. … different active compounds, including essential oils … Sedating properties that may bind to receptors in the brain that regulate central nervous system … Magical usage: sleeping potions, love potions, purifying philtres … protection charms … Linked with Mercury … more potent when Mercury is in conjunction with the moon … Corresponding element: water … _

Hermione yawned, her eyelids growing heavy once more. She smirked wearily. So those herbs could have an effect on her, after all.

**oooOooo **

The Sorting Hat ended its song and its wrinkled countenance seemed to scrutinize the trembling First Years carefully. Then Professor Weasley began to call the names of the new students so they could be sorted and Professor Sprout placed the old hat on each little head.

Hermione was staring at the row of children in front of the High Table's dais.

They were so … _small_. So very, very young.

She stared at their happy round cheeks and their perky snub noses and remembered how scared she'd been. She'd been utterly convinced that the Sorting Hat would send her home, that it would explain how everything was a horrible mistake, that she, Hermione Granger, daughter of dentists and Muggles, could not possibly be special enough, _magical _enough, to stay at Hogwarts.

And now here she was, not a student anymore, but an apprentice and assistant teacher.

**oooOooo **

"Alina Petrel."

Hermione leant forwards so she could watch as Alina skipped onto the dais, chocolate-coloured hair flying, dark eyes glittering.

Alina looked very much like her friendly, calm mother. And she _was _a kind girl, Hermione knew that. But Alina was also a little imp. Mischief sparkled in her eyes and she appeared to positively _brim_ with energy.

Alina sat down. Her small face disappeared under the flap.

Respectful silence filled the hall.

Lengthened.

Alina kicked her feet, completely unconcerned.

"Well, well," the Sorting Hat laughed at last. "Who would have thought? Slytherin House, beware! Here's one for you who will be a _real _challenge!"

Hermione clapped like mad. "I wish Lois could have been here to see that!"

But Professor Snape groaned.

"There," he muttered. "Didn't I tell you about the law of every other class having an equivalent to the Weasley twins? Here's the next generation, no doubt about that. And in Slytherin house, too. Whatever did I do to deserve this?"

**oooOooo**


	35. A Walk in the Forest

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**A Walk in the Forest **

Ron couldn't stop shaking his head.

Hermione in Slytherin apprentice-robes. Hermione mirroring Snape's gesture of rubbing the bridge of her nose. As if Ron was trying her temper beyond reason, merely by breathing in and out.

"It's not a good time now, huh?"

She forced a smile. "I love having you here," she said. "But …"

Ron pouted. "You actually prefer hanging out with the gr–"

He wanted to sulk until she made up with him, until she gave him a really sweet kiss and accompanied him to Honeydukes.

"Don't," she snapped. "Just don't."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

He looked at her again, the way she adjusted a phial here, added a cautious stir there ...

She had changed so much. He couldn't precisely say _when_ she'd begun to change, as he hadn't noticed then. He recalled the last time they'd talked, when she'd gone on and on about how exciting everything was, Muggle _ho– homo–_ homeopathy, magical and mundane properties of ingredients, their side effects … She'd only stopped when his eyes were crossing. And all he'd been able to think of was that she actually _enjoyed_ being Snape's apprentice. She wasn't just Doing The Thing Martyrs Must Do. She really _liked _being with Snape.

Ron suppressed a sigh. No more Honeydukes for the two of them. She was slipping away from him. Just as Harry was, what with his auror training and his growing involvement in politics and law, of all the dastardly things.

"Look, I understand that you don't want to …" Ron started.

"Oh, Merlin! No! Ron, look, I'm sorry, but I'm really busy this afternoon," she explained hastily. "This project is such a mess. I started out all wrong. I'm not sure I'll ever get it right. And I'm so horribly scared that I – that I'm just not good enough. That, when all is said and done, I'm nothing but a copycat and a textbook-parrot. That I'll never succeed at being _his_ apprentice."

She hesitated, then met his gaze without flinching. "Or at anything else, for that matter."

He knew exactly what she was talking about. What he didn't know was how he ought to respond.

"I'm sure it will work out," he said lamely. "But I guess I'd better get going. We can meet some other time."

But Hermione shook her head. "No, don't, please! It's just really bad timing this afternoon. Are you free tonight? Look, why don't you go for a walk with Lois until dinner? She'll be done with Professor Snape's therapy session in a few minutes. And Headmistress McGonagall has allowed her to stay for dinner, so she can see her daughter."

"A Muggle?" Ron asked, and instantly regretted his question.

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione ground out. "A _Muggle_. An extremely competent speech therapist who can help where _magical _remedies have failed."

"I – _uhh_ – 'mione, I didn't mean it that way, and you _know_ that!"

"Very well. Prove it. Take her for a walk. Stay for dinner. Be around when I'm free to spend some time with you. Which isn't _now_."

**oooOooo **

The first thing Ron thought was, _"But she's real _pretty_!"_  
The second was: "_But she's older than me. Her _daughter_ just started at Hogwarts."_  
The third was: _"So what?"_  
The fourth was: _"But Alina's in Slytherin." _

Then he smiled at the woman. "Hello! I'm Ronald Weasley. An old friend of Hermione's. She's asked me to keep you company until it's time for dinner. I hope you don't mind too much."

**oooOooo **

"A walk would be great," Lois admitted. The sessions with Professor Snape left her quite drained. He was certainly one of the most intense men she'd ever met, and in dire need of some therapy. And not speech therapy, either.

She smiled at the red-haired young man at her side. "I'm not allowed to go anywhere on my own while I'm in your world. Everyone's worried something bad might happen to me, stupid Muggle that I am."

He laughed. "You don't have to be a Muggle for that. Stupid is quite sufficient to get you into trouble at Hogwarts. And look at Hermione – being smart isn't exactly safe either."

"Yes," Lois agreed. "But I'm still sad that I missed the incident with those bath-bubbles. So where are we going?"

"How about a walk along the edge of the Forbidden Forest? That should be safe enough and maybe I can show you some magical critters."

"Forbidden Forest?"

"Yes, for the students. – Magic is not a game, you know." He sounded very serious now. "There _are_ dangerous creatures in those woods."

"Oh." Lois couldn't help casting an anxious look at the castle.

Ron grinned, suddenly looking like a boy again. "Don't worry. Alina is quite safe. Snape keeps his Slytherins in line. It's the Gryffindors that always get into trouble."

"And you were a Gryffindor?"

"Yes, indeed, just like Hermione."

"Tell me about that. What was it like to go to school here?"

**oooOooo **

"Oh, look! How cute! They are playing football with that stone! And the others are cheering! They can _talk_!"

Nine small, ferret-like creatures were tumbling around a tree. Four or five appeared to be throwing a small, black rock back and forth between them, while the others applauded or booed, in a constant stream of garbled shouts and high-pitched jeers.

"They are just jarveys," Ron said, frowning. "Well, I suppose they are cute enough," he admitted. And it was definitely a lot of fun to watch the Muggle woman's delight at those silly forest-creatures. "And they can't _really_ talk, they are more like _uh…_ Muggle parrots, I guess. They do insults really well. One of my cousins kept one as a pet a while ago, much to the dismay of his parents. Oh, and the critters are pretty valuable – their musk is one of the main ingredients in magical perfumes."

Lois beamed at him. "I like them."

"And I like you." Ron blushed. "_Uh…_ I guess we'd better return to the castle now. It's nearly time for dinner."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **Jarveys are from "Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them". The bit about their musk I made up.


	36. Almost a Teacher

**Almost a Teacher **

"Is Hermione really as bad an apprentice as she believes?" Lois asked.

Snape tapped his wand at the table. A moment later two pots of tea and the relevant paraphernalia, including a huge plate stacked with sinfully buttery shortbread and spicy cinnamon scones still warm from the oven, graced the round table in his study.

Somehow they had fallen into the routine of having a cup of tea and a spot of biscuits at the end of their meetings. Snape couldn't quite recall how that had happened. Maybe when Petrel had asked about life at Hogwarts, no doubt concerned for her daughter's welfare? And he had felt obliged to answer her questions for some bizarre reason?

Goodness, he must be losing his touch.

However, Snape had to admit that Lois Petrel was surprisingly easy to talk to. She never assumed, she never prodded. And no matter how much he hated all those excruciating little exercises she subjected him to, his voice _was_ improving. Sometimes, when he was well-rested and went easy on his voice, he almost recognised it again.

Frowning, he turned his attention to the Muggle. As far as he was concerned, there were only two positive aspects to having Granger as his apprentice: one, no matter what happened, there would be no further life-debts between them – the bond between master and apprentice would take care of that – and two, well, that very same bond would …

"Miss Granger? A failure?" That notion was so ludicrous that it pulled his mind back into the room instantly. Frowning, he poured Petrel her customary cup of Earl Grey, while taking refuge to his usual Lapsang Souchong.

When he looked up, Petrel was still waiting for an answer.

He scowled at her. Had they been talking about anyone else, he would have assumed that Petrel had been manipulated into asking that question. But Granger would be horrified at the mere thought of such a scheme.

"I _did_ accept her as my apprentice," he declared, hoping that this would end the discussion. He did not want to talk about Hermione Granger. He preferred not to _think_ of her, if that was at all possible, which it really wasn't, since they practically lived, and definitely worked together.

Petrel regarded him with raised eyebrows over the rim of her teacup.

"What?" he bit out irritably. Lois didn't say anything. After another moment of silence, Snape wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Miss Granger shouldn't have attempted those experiments on her own. No one expects apprentices to experiment on their own. That's why the damn thing is called _'apprenticeship' _after all. – How is it possible that she is still so insecure?" he asked at last. "There is really no reason for that. Her academic work has always been beyond reproach. I admit that I agreed to the apprenticeship only because I was not in a position to refuse the request of Headmistress McGonagall. But," he sighed, "if things were different …"

_(Very, very different. So different that he couldn't quite imagine that situation.) _

"… I would have been delighted to ask her to accept the position."

And why did that thought make him feel so unbearably sad all of a sudden?

**oooOooo **

Alina Petrel turned out to be less of a nuisance than Snape had expected her to be. She was smart, studious, mostly obedient, and adapted well to her magical abilities and life at Hogwarts. But still, he knew a born troublemaker when he saw one, and when his instinct told him to watch certain students, watch them he did.

Additionally, watching Alina was quite amusing. She got along well with the other Slytherin girls of her year – Geilis Duncan, Mika Malkin, Dorothy West. But her best friends belonged to other houses: a little Ravenclaw girl, Prudentia Halleywell, and a boy from Gryffindor house with the unfortunate name of Myrddin Loewe.

At the moment Snape was standing in an alcove near Ravenclaw tower. Alina and Prue were seated just around the corner, in the shadow of an enormous bookcase.

"Well, I don't think you're at all silly," Alina was saying earnestly. "What's silly about missing home?"

Wet snuffling was the only answer. Miss Halleywell was obviously suffering from a violent bout of homesickness.

"If my home were magic, I bet I'd miss it just as much as you do. You know, you really should talk to Miss Granger."

"But she's a teacher!"

"Well, yes, but not really. She's like … _almost_ a teacher. She's Professor Snape's apprentice. That means she's still a little bit like us. She's still _his_ student, even if she's _our _teacher. You can talk to her. And she listens. Even if _you_ think you're being silly."

"How do you know?" Prue sniffled.

"Well, I went to her when I was worried …" Alina squirmed. "You know, about if it's okay to be friends with people from other Houses."

"Oh. What did she say?"

"She said how everyone's House is real special, and so is Slytherin, and I ought to cherish my House. But how it's also okay to have other friends, because it would be silly not to. She's helping Geilis with her reading, and she's tutoring those Gryffindors that don't know the inside of a cauldron from the outside. She won't treat you special because of your House, 'cause she doesn't really belong to any House anymore.

"She's fair."

Which surely was a grand and sweeping statement for an 11 year old.

"Maybe I'll do that, then." Prue Halleywell sounded faintly hopeful.

**oooOooo **

Silently, Snape slipped away. He was almost sure that those two would return to their respective Houses in time for curfew.

So Miss Granger was fair? And she was helping a neglected Slytherin child practice her reading? Telling another Slytherin to cherish her house, while supporting her slightly unusual choice of friends?

_Why, Miss Granger,_ he mused, _I believe Miss Petrel is right: you _are_ almost a teacher. And I bet you're not even aware of it …_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Don't worry, Alina won't be a good girl for long - I only think that it would take a Muggle-raised girl longer than say, the Weasley twins, to start getting into trouble. At the moment Alina is making friends and settling in. After that, all bets are off.

The name "Geilis Duncan" is based on the historical "Geillis Duncane", a Scottish woman who was accused of witchcraft in the 16th century. Her story can be read at sacred-texts DOT com. "Mika Malkin" refers to the canon Malkins, of course. "Dorothy West" should be rather obvious. "Prudentia Halleywell" alludes to the TV-series "Charmed", of course. But "prudentia" is also Latin for "wisdom" and thus a very good Ravenclaw name. And "Myrrdin Loewe" is a wordplay referring to another wordplay. In Susan Cooper's "The Dark Is Rising" series Merlin uses the name "Merriman/Merry" "Lyon/Lion". Myrrdin is also an old name for Merlin, and "Loewe" is only a weird way of writing "Löwe", the German word for "lion".

The title of the book Hermione is reading with the Slytherin girl will be revealed soon.


	37. A Dark and Stormy Night

**A Dark and Stormy Night **

At the beginning of November a moonless night filled the Forbidden Forest with near impenetrable gloom. Gusts of a stormy North-Eastern were shaking the branches of the Whomping Willow and rushing through the treetops, driving icy showers across over the castle and grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, trusted his monsters' good sense to stay cooped up in their caves and lairs in a night like this and had cut his late night rounds short. Now he sprawled on his huge bed and was snoring with great gusto, making the shutters of his hut vibrate on their hinges.

But there were predators that not even the foulest weather kept from prowling. Around three o'clock in the morning the agonized death-screams of nine young jarveys carried over the howling of the storm and the creaking of the wind-swept trees.

In Hagrid's hut old Fang groaned softly in his sleep. For a moment his rheumy eyes opened. But when no other sound reached his wrinkled ears, he rolled closer to the fading warmth of the fireplace and slept on.

**oooOooo **

Inside the castle, another sound woke Hermione Granger from a restless slumber that had been haunted by familiar nightmares. She sat up in her bed, her heart racing, her nightshirt drenched in sweat. For a moment she wondered why she had woken. A strange sense of urgency filled her, of need, as if she'd been called.

But everything was silent now. Waiting for her frantic heartbeat to slow down, she listened to the darkness. For once she was alone in her chamber, her cat Crookshanks hadn't returned from his nightly prowls yet.

There. Again.

A groan. As if someone was trying not to scream with pain.

_Snape! _

She reached for her wand and jumped out of her bed. Only when she found herself standing in front of her master's bedroom, she hesitated. Snape hadn't needed to tell her that she was never to enter his bedroom – that had gone without saying.

Another agonized moan.

He hadn't told her not to enter his bedroom without his permission. He'd never mentioned his bedroom at all.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione reached for the door.

**oooOooo **

Inside, the first thing she noticed was the smell of blood. Then her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and a scream caught in her throat.

Professor Snape was lying on the floor, his wand next to him. He was clutching his left arm and a pool of blood spreading below him.

"Sir! No! No! What have you been doing?"

She slid down on the floor beside him. He groaned again and tried to push her away.

"It's not what it looks like," Snape rasped. Then another convulsion of pain seized him. Hermione's left arm went around him, pulling him into her embrace and the weight of his body off the injured limb. When the spasm had passed, she turned his arm into the light.

She swallowed dryly. The skin at the inside of his left arm looked very much like a skinning spell gone very wrong.

His _left _arm.

Hermione almost sighed with relief, as sudden understanding flowed through her. He had told her the truth. It really wasn't what it looked like at first glance. He hadn't tried to kill himself. He had merely attempted to remove the Dark Mark.

Following her gaze, Snape ground his teeth. "Not. One. Word."

"Of course not, sir. But _please_ let me help you."

After a moment he gave a curt nod, then minutely relaxed in her arms.

Knowing better than to use magic on an injury resulting from an unknown spell, Hermione clapped her hands and summoned the house-elf. "Nag, I need clean towels, bandages, a bowl with water. – Sir, do you have some antiseptic potion here?"

Snape shuddered, but nodded again, his teeth clenched, sweat forming on his forehead.

"_Accio_ Antiseptica," Hermione flicked her wand and held out her hand. A moment later she winced at the impact of a big brown bottle. Then a soft CRACK! made her whip up her head in panic, but it was only the thin, wrinkly house-elf who had appeared at her side, the items she had requested in his arms.

"Thank you, Nag."

The house-elf bowed to her, threw a scared look at his master and disappeared again.

Hermione used one of the towels to wipe off the blood while keeping a steady pressure above the wound to staunch the blood flow. The towel was drenched in seconds. Awkwardly Hermione poured a little of the antiseptic potion on another towel. She didn't dare to release his arm. There was so much blood. As if she'd walked in on a scene from one of her worst nightmares.

Bunching up the soaked towel, she carefully cleaned the outline of the wound. He jerked weakly in her arms at the sting of the potion. Cleaned, his arm was a mess of raw flesh and raised black lines. He had managed to completely skin his forearm – except for the parts of his skin that were covered by the black lines of the Mark.

Hermione's stomach clenched.

And he was still bleeding heavily. She couldn't keep the blood flow staunched. She had no idea how to treat a spell damage wound that obviously resulted from the use of Dark Magic.

"Sir? Sir?"

He was deathly white, his eyes shut tightly. Low moans escaped his lips, when another convulsion shivered over his body. It felt as if she were holding someone in the throes of the _Cruciatus_ curse.

"Sir, I cannot staunch the bleeding. I need to call for help. You might bleed to death if I don't get help."

"Wouldn't be all that bad," he mumbled. But he cracked open his eyes and regarded her for a long moment.

"Sir," Hermione whispered urgently, as unheedful of her tears and his blood as she had been once before, many months ago. "Please."

"Very well," he sighed wearily at last. "Get Poppy."

**oooOooo**


	38. Dear Harry

**Dear Harry **

_Dear Harry, _

Hermione hesitated. A good start. Friendly. Normal. She resisted the urge to chew on her fountain pen. Taking a leaf out of Ginny's book, she'd enchanted the ink cartridge to magically refill itself. Writing had been much more comfortable since she'd thought of that. No more bits of feather getting stuck between her teeth.

_Thank you for your letter. _

That was good, too. Polite and nice. If a trifle obvious. She halted again and stared out of the window. She loved the view of her new rooms, even on such a dismal day in November.

_I hope you are well. I am … _

She paused. The cold and wet weather of November was taking its toll. An adult human body numbered exactly 206 bones, and every single one of her bones was aching right now.

I am feeling absolutely rotten?

No. Not good. Harry didn't react well to honest answers. He'd only blame himself if he knew that she was still suffering from the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_ curse.

Hermione stretched, winced, yawned, and reached for her tea. She'd picked an invigorating mixture instead of one of her usual calming or soothing draughts today. Mixing the long-term effects of the _Cruciatus_ curse with her insomnia was doing nothing for her presence of mind and she still had the study group of the Hufflepuff Third Years to supervise this afternoon. Thank God it was the Hufflepuffs, and not the Slytherins, or worse, the Gryffindors.

I am …  
I still feel …  
… utterly shaken?

She shuddered. Shaken. What an understatement. Whenever she closed her eyes she could still feel the weight of his body against hers, the wetness of his blood on her skin. The smell of his blood mixed with the scent of his body. She recalled the way he had looked at her, that dark, desperate gaze. She still wondered what he had seen in her eyes that had prompted him to agree to her request to summon help.

_I am still feeling a little bit shaken, which is really not surprising given what happened. _

_Of course he didn't appreciate your visit. Honest, Harry, what were you thinking? He's still Professor Snape, after all. Although I suppose I do understand why you had to come, and I suspect that he does, too. _

Severus Snape was now the only close connection to Harry's parents and Harry's family that was left. He was the only person alive who'd been really close to Harry's parents, in good ways and bad ways. He had perhaps suffered even more than Harry because of Voldemort. And because of Albus Dumbledore, a small nagging voice at the back of her mind insisted.

Hermione recalled an unsettling conversation she had had with Harry a few weeks after the final battle.

**oooOooo **

_"Do you … do you hate Dumbledore? For what he – for what he did to you?" she had asked. _

_Harry shrugged. Shrugging was still his default gesture. But he met her gaze calmly. The fierce anger that used to blaze in his green eyes, that had kept him going, had almost vanished, drained away in war and death. She remembered how he rubbed his scar – his second favourite gesture. _

_"Of course not," he said. "Dumbledore did what he had to do. Just like the rest of us." _

_Then he fell silent, while his gaze grew distant and his lips thinned to a harsh, straight line. _

_"Sometimes, I guess," he admitted finally. "You?" _

_She had stared at her balled fists. Hermione remembered that she had visited Snape just the day before that conversation. _

**oooOooo **

"Yes," she whispered, and the sound of her voice echoed loudly in the silence of her room. "I do."

"Sometimes," she added. Propping her elbows on the table, she wearily rested her face in her palms. The skin of her hands tingled almost painfully at the touch.

For example, every time she'd visited Professor Snape in St. Mungo's.

She picked up her pen again and placed it on the parchment.

_Professor Snape is much better. Ron's idea to ask Lois for advice was really brilliant. For some reason – we are still not sure why – the Mark behaved just like a Muggle tattoo under the laser beams. They could "scrub" it right off. He'll have some hideous scars left, because Healer Mugwort says the residue of Dark Magic that is still in the tissue would act up again if she were to try and heal it prettily with magic. But that doesn't bother him at all. I think he's just glad that he got rid of the damned thing finally. _

"Act up." She snorted at her own words. But Harry would handle that euphemism better than "might make Professor Snape bleed to death within half an hour". She had summoned help just in time. She tried not to think of that. It made her hands shake too hard to keep writing.

_The apprenticeship is interesting, although I'm really scared that I'm an utter failure at it. Ignore whatever Ron's saying. He just can't understand that I might enjoy learning all about potions regardless … _

"Regardless" was the most unobtrusive way she could think of to refer to The Plan.

And The Plan … Hermione inhaled deeply and tried to suppress the quivering that always seemed to grip her stomach lately whenever she thought of her master.

The Plan was not going well.

The fact that she had saved Snape's life _yet again_, and the rather spectacular circumstances of the event (which included a blood-drenched nightshirt clinging to her body, Snape barely conscious in her arms, an absolutely livid Headmistress and a thoroughly disgruntled Master Healer) added even more strain to the already tense relationship between master and apprentice.

_I'll let you know at once if anything happens. _

_Give my love to Ron & George. And no, I most certainly won't keep an eye on Ginny. _

_Love, _

_Hermione. _

There. She sighed. All done.

Just in time to leave for that study group with those Hufflepuffs.

**oooOooo**


	39. Cruciatus

**Cruciatus **

Muriel Mugwort had assumed that Hermione Granger's request for an appointment was about her master. Either to talk about his health, or … about other things. But when she saw how stiffly the girl moved, the Healer realised that Hermione's reason for the appointment was all her own.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," she greeted the young woman, holding out her hand.

"Thank you for making time to see me," Hermione replied.

"That's my job, dear."

Unobtrusively, the Healer catalogued several clues about her patient's condition.Very pale. Too thin. Dark circles under the eyes and the eyes themselves dull with lack of sleep. Stiff, careful movements, as if in considerable pain. No strength to the handshake. Skin cold, clammy. Hand trembling.The symptoms were quite clear. Nevertheless Mugwort was thorough in her examination, both with the mundane and the magical procedures.

Finally Muriel asked Hermione into her office, where the healer plucked a small blue phial from a shelf and counted twenty drops into a tablespoon.

"Swallow quickly. It burns, but it will help."

Hermione did as she was told, although her grimace showed just how awful the potion tasted.

"And now a simple herbal tea." Mugwort went to another shelf. The small pot was labelled for its ingredients, a mixture of meadowsweet, nettle, rosemary and willow bark.

For herself she settled on a strong, plain Assam. She needed it. She'd seen too many cases like Miss Granger's in recent years.

Quiet minutes ticked by on the clock-faces of an elaborate time-piece on the mantelshelf. Ten dials sporting different sizes and hands were a testament to the many duties of a Master Healer in the Spell Damage Ward.

"You should have come sooner," Muriel remarked.

Hermione shrugged. Much easier, the healer noted. The potion had worked its magic. For now, the pain was gone.

"Would that have changed anything?" A hint of bitterness in her voice. Mugwort narrowed her eyes at the girl. That was to be expected – the long-term effects of the _Cruciatus_ curse were never only physical.

"No," Mugwort admitted. "But there are potions – like the one I just gave you – that alleviate the pain. Salves that help with the stiffness. Other potions to help you sleep. As I am certain you are aware of."

"I am. But all of those potions are very strong and highly addictive. They also interfere with my magic. And they mess with my mind."

"If you prefer the pain, why are you here now?" Muriel raised an eyebrow at the girl.

Hermione sighed. "I hoped that it had passed. I was fine in summer, and it's been more than a year now. I hoped it would be over.

"But it's not," she concluded bleakly. "Is there any kind of cure? Something I missed when I did my research?"

Now it was the healer's turn to sigh. "I am very sorry," she said gently. "But no, there is no cure for the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_. The long-term consequences vary, of course. They depend on the strength of the wizard or witch who cast the curse, as well as on the magical powers of the victim, the length of time and the number of times the victim is subjected to the curse. Women usually withstand the curse better than men, but Muggle-borns have less resistance to magical attacks. Other factors involved are how quickly treatment is provided afterwards and how soon the victim uses magic again."

Mugwort studied Hermione's face. It was never easy to talk about the details of torture, but she needed to know the facts to provide the best treatment she could.

"Who did this to you?" Muriel asked, keeping her voice quiet and even.

The young woman balled her hands into fists so hard that the knuckles stood out whitely and in sharp relief. Her veins shimmered blue through skin that was so pale it was almost translucent.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione's gaze strayed to one of the clock faces. The inscription below it said _"Longbottom"_. The hands were titled _"Alice"_ and _"Frank"_. Frank's hand pointed to _"asleep"_. Alice was _"counting bubble gums"_.

"It wasn't all that long, I think," Hermione went on. "It seemed an eternity to me, but from what Harry tells me it can't have been much more than an hour." She put down the empty mug and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "I'm weak. I started talking almost at once. And if … someone else hadn't corroborated my lies, she'd have had me tell the truth within moments. If I'd still been able to speak that is, which I really wasn't.

"They took me to Bill Weasley's house right afterwards. His wife took care of me. But there was no time to summon a healer, or to wait with … what we had to do.

"I … recovered quickly, or so I thought at the time. I was back on my feet the next day, after all. But of course it was summer at the time."

"Cold and damp weather are common triggers for the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_," Mugwort observed.

Hermione grinned wryly. "So I noticed."

"Any other symptoms you haven't told me about yet?"

The young woman sighed and nodded. "Not very often, luckily, but … I do get … cramps of a sort sometimes. Convulsions. As if …"

"As if you were being tortured all over again?"

Hermione hid her face in her hands. "Yes." Even muffled the strain in her voice was clearly audible. "I told you I'm weak."

"No, you are not," Mugwort said briskly. "You are merely having a harder time with the after-effects of a horrible curse than other witches might have. There's nothing weak about that. Some of us get horrible migraines, others don't. Some women suffer monthly cramps, others don't.

"You have to talk about this with your master. There are potions you will need that have to be brewed freshly and which require highly advanced skills along with steadier hands than you have right now."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Canon says nothing about any long-term effects of the Cruciatus apart from the case of the Longbottoms who were tortured into insanity, as far as I know. Fanon otoh includes that motif a lot, and as I think it makes sense, I've chosen to do so as well. I interpret the severity of long-term effects to be dependant on various factors (as outlined in this chapter), so every wizard/witch would react differently, from having next to no symptoms to having something like a "relapse". I hope that makes sense.


	40. Slytherin Pastimes

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Slytherin Pastimes **

Caring didn't come easily to him, but it was part of his job as head of Slytherin House. He was responsible for sixty-seven students this year, thirty-five boys and thirty-two girls, and he took that responsibility very seriously. He always had. Therefore Snape made a point of talking to each of _"his"_ children once a month.

He kept a notebook for that, with a list of the names so he wouldn't forget anyone, and to keep track of the small troubles the children expected him to remember. Mostly he managed to remember without consulting his notes, but he had found filing that information quite useful over the years, when the development of some bout of teenaged angst or other coincided with a notable drop in academic performance. He invariably hated resorting to that strategy, but sometimes it was easier to tackle the emotional end of things to produce the desired result in the classroom, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable the procedure made him feel. And of course, compared to other discomforts of his sorry existence trying to take care of the emotional needs of his Slytherins was almost cosy, so he wouldn't complain.

Naturally, this special schedule of his was a well-kept secret, since such maudlin sentimentality wasn't very Slytherin, even if it was a necessary routine.

_Much like administering a dose of Skele-Grow after a Quidditch match,_ Snape told himself, as he made his way down to the Slytherin common room on a Monday evening in late November. _Just another annoying task._

Due to the Slytherin Quidditch practice taking place on Monday evenings this term, the common room was emptier than usual of an evening. Draco had occupied one of the alcoves and sat huddled over a stack of books. The NEWTs for the accelerated Seventh Year would take place shortly before Christmas. It wasn't easy for the three Slytherins who had returned to Hogwarts, least of all for Draco. But – Snape allowed himself to feel just a little bit of pride – the boy – no, the young man – was holding up well. Better than he would have assumed at the start of the summer academy. He smirked. Potter's absence was clearly doing Draco a world of good.

Little Geilis was curled up in an armchair, a fat book on her lap. Her right index finger was following the line she was reading at an agonised crawl. Her lips were moving soundlessly, and there was a look of intense concentration on her pale little face.

In one of the niches, four girls were gathered around a square table and playing a board game: Pansy Parkinson and the other three First Years. He frowned when he didn't recognise the game as one of the traditional wizarding games. It looked to him as if the board was made up of hexagons that had been enchanted to mirror landscapes, meadows, fields of barley, woods, mountains, muddy or sandy areas and even a small patch of desert. Along the edges of the pentagons villages, towns and roads were springing up, directed by the players. It seemed to be a very involved strategy-game, based on trading and building. There was certainly a lot of giggling and groaning and swearing involved. With a gleeful grin, Alina was prodding the figure of a black knight across the table. She seemed to be the most accomplished player.

Had they dared to enchant a Muggle game? It certainly looked like it. For a moment Snape considered interrupting the game and demanding an explanation. Enchanting Muggle objects was dangerous. On the other hand … it was only a game. And Pansy Parkinson was quite adept at charms. And she had grown into a quite responsible young woman.

In the end, he turned away and went over to Geilis. The girl looked up and smiled shyly at her head of house. "Hello, sir."

Then her gaze slid worriedly to his left arm. At his scowl, she blushed ferociously. "I … I … How … how is your arm, sir?" she stuttered.

The official story was that he had had a potions accident. Which was utterly humiliating, but preferable to the truth, of course. He forced a smile. "Thank you, child. Quite well. – I hear that my apprentice has been tutoring you?"

The blush deepened into a crimson colour. "I – _uh_ – yes, she does, I mean – Miss Granger. She noticed how I was having trouble – and _uh_ – she's been – _uh_ –"

"Helping you?" He wouldn't force her to admit out loud that she'd been sent off to Hogwarts barely able to read. Discreet inquiries had revealed that due to Hermione's help, lots of practice and her innate magical talents Miss Duncan was quite a good reader by now. Not quite on the same level as her class-mates, but certainly up to the curriculum of her year.

The child nodded fiercely.

"That's good. What are you reading?"

Geilis swallowed hard. "Just – just a Muggle book, sir."

When he frowned, she added quickly, "I – the magical ones – they are harder to read, sir, with the story shifting and pulling you in and all. But it has magic and wizards, sir."

"Magic and wizards?" He raised an eyebrow. _What kind of Muggle rubbish had He– Granger given to the child?_

"They are reading _'The Lord of the Rings'_," Draco put in. "Hermione comes over twice a week in the evening and reads a chapter to us, then we take turns. Everyone reads a page."

Snape turned to Draco, aghast. He didn't know what shocked him more, the book that his imbecilic apprentice had chosen or the fact that _his Slytherins_ were apparently quite happy to spend an evening reading Muggle mythology.

His apprehension and consternation must have shown on his face, because Draco laughed.

"You don't need to worry," Draco reassured him. "Their favourite character is Gandalf, not Saruman. Slytherins prefer to side with the winning team. And he's quite a wily wizard, that Gandalf character. Sneaky. Could have been a Slytherin, I think."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** I don't think Snape hates teaching, personally, or that he is an exceptionally cruel teacher all around (of course there are situations in which he rather fails as a teacher, but way back when I was a student, I've never encountered a "perfect" teacher - therefore I'm personally willing to cut him some slack). Additionally, when I read the books again, I noticed that on many occasions when Harry & co go on about how horrible Snape is, he's actually not especially cruel or mean, but rather merely strict and not very understanding of whatever mischief the three have come up with. Not always, of course, but enough to have made me think. In consequence I believe that he would be quite different towards his Slytherins - still stiff and awkward, most likely, as I've tried to show in this chapter - but aware of his duties and trying to do his best for "his" children.

The board game belongs to Alina, of course, and it was her idea to charm it. Cookies to anyone who knows which game it is.

"Lord of the Rings" - I see recreational books in the wizarding world as being mostly of the enchanted kind, that move and do things like actually pull you inside the story. Not the best kind of thing for practicing how to read. And not everyone likes reading "Hogwarts: A History" in their free time. I admit that I don't see LOTR as the kind of book Hermione would read in her free time, but I do think it's the kind of book she _might_ pick to read with the Slytherins.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	41. A New Threat With an Old Agenda

**A New Threat And an Old Agenda **

MUGGLE-BORNS MURDERED – FAMILY OF FIVE DEAD!

_Edinburgh. A family of Muggle-born wizards, the parents along with their three children, were killed in their beds during the night of Saturday, November 27. _

The deaths of herbalist Thomas Richardson (37) and his wife Sorcha (36), a stay-at-home-witch, along with their three children, Ian (9), Peter (6) and Jenny (4), were discovered by friends of the family who arrived at the Edinburgh family home for an afternoon of Quidditch playing on Sunday.

When the Richardsons did not react to doorbells and floo-calls, aurors were alerted and decided to Apparate directly into the house in order to determine if an accident had occurred. Inside the house nothing pointed towards any unusual occurrence or a fight, but when the aurors entered the main bedroom, they found the parents lying dead in their bed. Upon entering the children's rooms, the aurors were faced with exactly the same scene: the three children had been killed in their beds as well.

"They looked as if they were sleeping," said Harry Potter, auror-in-training, who was first on the scene. The young man – famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Voldemort in 1998 – was visibly shaken when he told our correspondent that there are no clues at all as to what happened, but that it can be assumed that the infamous Unforgivable curse _"Avada Kedavra"_ was used to kill the family.

"We can only assume that the tragedy was caused by followers of Voldemort, so-called Death Eaters, who are still on the loose and seeking revenge even more than a year after the Dark Lord's defeat," stated the head of the Office of Aurors, Gawain Robards, yesterday. "We urge all Muggle-born wizards and witches to be extremely alert for any suspicious activities and not to hesitate to floo-call the Office of Aurors."

_The story continues with interviews of colleagues of Thomas Richardson and background information on the killing curse on page 5. _

**oooOooo **

The Daily Prophet of Monday, November 29, 1999, dropped from Hermione's hands and fell to the floor.

Annoyed at the disturbance of his lunch routine (which consisted mainly in keeping a keen eye out for pranks among the student body) Snape turned towards Hermione with a scowl that faded to a look of concern as he took in her pallor and her shaking hands. He picked up the paper and quickly scanned the front-page.

"Damn," Snape muttered and glanced at the empty seat where Headmistress McGonagall was suspiciously absent today.

He considered the Order meeting last summer, when he had heard the first report about disappearing Death Eaters. He'd had a bad feeling about the situation even then: how likely was it for aurors and Order members to lose track of five confirmed Death Eaters in three countries at the same time? Ever since then, the leads the Order and the Ministry had been following in order to apprehend members of Voldemort's organization that still were at large had been thinning out. Since the beginning of October there had been no useful information about any of those criminals at all. And now this.

The bad feeling in his stomach intensified to the point of nausea.

_Regrouping, that's what they have been doing,_ the analytical part of his mind lectured coolly. _At some point last summer, someone has started to pick up the remains of Voldemort's organization. Someone who is powerful and cunning enough to make Death Eaters virtually disappear from under the noses of our aurors, the Sorcerers' Secret Service _and_ the Order. Now the new organization is firmly established and they have decided to send a message. _

"Damn," he repeated, swearing in a soft voice.

_The signal couldn't possibly be any clearer. Killing people in their beds, not even sparing the children. The ruthlessness of the execution was chilling, the agenda of whoever was behind this all too easy to perceive: eliminate Muggle-born wizards and intimidate the Purebloods. _

He looked back at the article, trying to connect faces with the names. The parents had been a bit younger than he was, but they had probably been at Hogwarts together for a couple of years. He couldn't place the name of the man, but he thought he remember the name of a Sorcha Friskin. A Hufflepuff, if he wasn't mistaken. Brown hair and green eyes. A round face.

_No more. And their eldest had been almost old enough to come to Hogwarts._

"Damn," he whispered once more, before he met the eyes of his apprentice and had to bite his tongue not to repeat himself for a fourth time.

Hermione – after she'd saved his damn life _yet again_, there was really no use in persisting to call her "Miss Granger" within the sheltered confines of his mind – looked thoroughly shaken. No, worse: she _was_ shaking.

"He–" He cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, are you feeling quite all right?"

_Of course she was not, that much was easy to see. _He frowned irritably at her. "Do you need an Invigoration Draught? Or some Pepper-Up-Potion?"

She blinked at him.

"Miss Granger?"

She shook herself. "I – I'm sorry, Professor. I – that article – the poor children …" She trailed off helplessly, giving a strange, stiff shrug. "I – I think I need to be a– alone for a bit. If you will excuse me, sir?"

"Very well. Don't –"

He shook his head. There was really no reason to admonish Hermione about punctuality. She'd never been late for an appointment in her life.

"Sir?"

"Nothing. I – I will see you later, then."

She only nodded, before she awkwardly turned around and slowly shuffled to the door that led out of the Great Hall from the dais of the High Table.

He felt his frown deepen. Something was wrong about the way Hermione held herself, so stiffly, and about the way she moved, so carefully. As if she was not only shook up by the news, but in considerable pain. Was she keeping something from him? He should probably consult Poppy …

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Cookies for everyone who guessed "Settlers of Catan". Extra cookies, with chocolate chips for Epilachna, who noticed that I forgot one corner of the game board elements.


	42. To Hold You Through the Night

**To Hold You Through the Night **

What with one thing and another, Hermione hadn't managed to gather her courage to ask her master for assistance concerning potions to help her deal with the long-term effects of the _Cruciatus_ curse. A neglect she was deeply regretting at the moment.

The first night of December 1999 was the coldest night of the autumn so far, heralding the advent of winter with first flurries of snowflakes. Dancing above the towers of the castle they turned into icy droplets of rain further down and the day before hoarfrost had glittered all over the gardens for the first time.

A big blaze was roaring in the fireplace of Hermione's room, she lay huddled under a heap of blankets with Crookshanks at her feet, a hot-water bottle clutched to her stomach, but to no avail. She didn't seem to be able to chase the chill out of her bones. Instead, the aching stiffness was slowly sliding into the realm of pain, with a hint of agony flashing through her whenever she breathed too deeply.

_This is not happening,_ she thought. Instinctively she curled up into a ball, but the movement ripped through her body as if she were being struck by red hot pokers. Or freezing pokers?

But it was happening. She knew the signs by now and dreaded them.

First there were days of stiffness and aching joints. Of being cold and never getting warm. Then the sensations of cold and heat became mixed up, until they faded, faded into fiery pain. The next stage had her muscles seizing up. Agony.

_I'm not weak. I'm not weak. I'm … what did Healer Mugwort say about it? "You are merely having a harder time with the after-effects of a horrible curse than other witches might have." Right. Not weak. _

A first cramp. She buried her face in the pillow and muffled her moan.

_Not too bad yet. Just like ten times the feeling of the worst menstrual cramp imaginable. _

She swallowed carefully.

_I'm not throwing up. Not yet. _

Her legs were on fire, they were twitching and she couldn't stop, and every movement felt like knives slashing through her flesh. Crookshanks leapt from the bed, to avoid her helpless kicks.

_Not weak.  
Just having a harder time. _

The muscles along her spine seized up, bending her head backwards.

_Not weak. And the real thing was much worse.  
Much._

_Worse. _

Then she remembered Bellatrix' eyes again, filled with madness and hate, and she heard Bellatrix' harsh voice again, as the Death Eater shouted at her: _"… Tell the truth, tell the truth!" _

And then Hermione screamed.

**oooOooo **

From somewhere far away she heard a voice, a voice that sounded a little hoarse, but surprisingly soft, "You foolish, foolish girl, why didn't you tell me? I don't have any of the potions that might help you now on stock."

Gentle fingers brushed her curls away from her face. Of course. He must have heard her.

Somehow she managed to open her eyes.

Snape was sitting next to her on her bed, still dressed in his teacher's robes. Although it must be close to midnight he hadn't retired for the night yet. He had probably come back from his rounds just in time to hear her.

"Didn't get round to it," she breathed, then clenched her teeth as another wave of pain made her shudder.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," Hermione pressed on. "I think … I think the worst is …" She balled her hands, ignoring the agony shooting up her arms in a feeble attempt to keep control of her body. "… over," she wheezed.

"Oh, really?" A black eyebrow rose in a sarcastic quirk. "Do you mind if we … _test_ that admirably Gryffindor sentiment?"

She just stared at him, trying to get her breath back.

Impatiently he shook his head, but when he reached for her, his hands were careful, his movements as precise as ever. He gripped her under the arms to pull her body up against him, just as she had done with him not even two weeks ago. Not much of a movement, but it was enough to make her muscles cramp again.

She wanted to pull away from him, but her body wasn't cooperating. Her arms and legs were shaking, as she writhed. Hermione ended up with her face buried in her master's robes. Strong hands clasped her arms and held her tightly.

"It is best if you move as little as possible," he murmured. "Try to keep still. Try to relax. This will pass."

She tried to obey his command, to relax in his embrace. A shallow breath brought his scent to her nose. _Vetyver wood. Bergamot. Rosemary. Cypress. Nutmeg._

Distantly she realised that under different circumstances she would have loved to be held in his embrace like that. For such a slender man he was surprisingly strong. And even through the haze of pain, his arms felt good around her.

When the next cramp seized her, she turned fully towards him, her fingers involuntarily clutching at him.

**oooOooo **

She had finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of morning, utterly spent from fighting down the echo of a _Cruciatus_ curse that would have killed or driven mad any lesser witch.

Her face was pressed against his chest, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. In spite of his constant admonishments to relax, she had chosen to fight each convulsion in typical, hare-brained Gryffindor fashion. Absentmindedly he smoothed a sweat-damp curl away from her painfully creased forehead. Her hands were still clinging to his robes, as if he were her only hope to last through the night. She felt fragile in his arms. Too thin. And _oh, Merlin,_ too stubborn for her own good.

Snape allowed himself a minute sigh.

She must have heard him even in her sleep. She stirred slightly, snuggling closer to his body.

"… not weak," she mumbled. "Not weak …"

"No," he whispered, "you're not weak. Not weak at all. You foolish, foolish girl."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** My theory is that any damage caused by Dark Magic is difficult to treat with ordinary magic. Dark Wizards would expect their victims to try magic first of all to repair the damage the various hexes and curses cause, so they would attempt to create curses that are immune to magical treatment or that react badly to magical healing. Had Hermione asked Snape for help right away, he might have brewed some potions that could (possibly) have prevented that relapse. As it is, the shock over the news and her general bad health (insomnia, lack of appetite etc) added up and provoked an echo of the _Cruciatus_ curse. They can't treat that relapse itself, the only thing you can do is wait until it has passed, and to keep the victim from moving as much as possible.


	43. Waking in Your Arms

**Waking in Your Arms **

When Hermione woke, his arms were still wrapped around her.

She lay with her face pressed against his shoulder. Her bones and muscles still ached in the aftermath of the night, but for the first time in weeks she felt warm. For the first time in _months_ she felt safe and secure. His right hand rested lightly on her left shoulder. When she took a deep breath, and no cramps seized her, intense relief washed over her. Snape reacted to her slight movement by curling the fingers of his left hand tighter around her waist and pulling her closer to him, but he did not wake.

She closed her eyes again and kept very still, just breathing, inhaling his familiar fragrance. The spicy scent caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach, and suddenly a strange ache formed in the middle of her chest. She felt light and heavy at the same time, as if her heart were a soap-bubble, shimmering, pretty, but fragile: a soft breeze would shatter her and rip her apart.

Breathe in. Her cheek, the way it rested on the rough woollen fabric of his robe. Breathe out. The weight of his right arm on her shoulders. Breathe in. The warmth of his body around her and beneath her. Breathe out. His left arm slung around her back. His hand holding her. Breathe in. Why did her eyes burn with tears all at once? Breathe out.

She opened her eyes and blinked.

His face so close to hers, unguarded and vulnerable in his sleep. She loved the proud arc of his nose. The sweep of his black lashes. And most of all, to see him at peace for once, the harsh lines in his face smoothed by quiet slumber.

… loved?

_Oh._

She must have tensed, because his lids fluttered and then opened. Black eyes glinted in the pale morning light.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was low, but to Hermione's surprise she realised that it sounded the way she remembered it from earlier years. _Smooth._

She exhaled in a sigh. "Better."

A faint, relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Good."

Tightening his hold on her, he sat up in a slow, awkward movement, grunting a little. Once seated, he carefully lowered her to a lying position, all the time watching her intently. After a moment, he seemed satisfied that she did not exhibit any negative reactions to being moved.

"Can you sit up?"

"I think so." She attempted to raise herself the way she usually did, sitting up and swinging her legs around in one fluid movement – and failed. She slumped back against him.

"Shit." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oops. Sorry, sir."

He merely raised his eyebrows a little. "I would suggest taking things a little more slowly today, Miss Granger. A _Cruciatus_ relapse like the one you suffered last night is not a trifling matter."

She bit down on her lip and tried again, more slowly. This time he helped her, gently pushing her back into an upright position. She felt stiffer than ever before, and her muscles protested every inch. But in the end she was sitting next to Snape, and although every bone and sinew in her body ached, there were no cramps, no agonised spasms.

His lips curled into a slight smile. "For future reference, Miss Granger: _this_ is what it looks like when the worst of a _Cruciatus _relapse is over."

When she glared at him, she could have sworn that a spark of relieved amusement glittered in the depth of his eyes.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, before she burst out with a question, "Why didn't you call Madam Pomfrey?"

Snape shifted until he sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight and tense. He did not look at her, but stared at the opposite wall, the shoulder-length curtain of black hair hiding his expression.

"She couldn't have done anything else for you than what I did," he said softly. "And as long as you are my apprentice I am bound to do all that is within my power to take care of you."

**oooOooo **

"Are you sure that you're feeling better?" Lois asked. "You look terrible."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I am. With the cramps gone, Professor Snape could give me something for the pain. And he's going to brew potions for me that should prevent another relapse."

"That's good." But the concerned look didn't leave the eyes of the dark-haired Muggle woman. "It was a – spell – that caused those problems?"

Hermione curled her fingers tighter around her mug of hot chocolate. She was ensconced in an armchair in the Potions master's library, snuggled into a soft blanket. Lois had come to visit her after the latest therapy session. Hermione sighed. She didn't particularly want to talk about the _Cruciatus_ today. Or ever, really.

"Yes," Hermione said at last. "An especially nasty curse, one of the Unforgivables. It's called the _'Cruciatus' _curse. It causes pain. Apparently it can have quite … uncomfortable long-term effects."

"I think I can see that," Lois commented wryly.

Hermione shook her head. "No. You can't. I had cramps, convulsions. No control over my body. The tiniest movement caused spasms of pain. And all that was _nothing_ compared to the real thing."

She swallowed hard. She didn't want to remember Bellatrix. Or the final battle. The memory of the article about the murdered family burned in her brain. Would it happen all over again? War, torture, death? And little Alina … as a Muggle-born witch her life was at risk, too.

"I'm sorry, Lois. I'm afraid the wizarding world is not a very nice place."

For a while Lois didn't reply. When she finally met Hermione's eyes, her expression was grim, but calm. "I don't know how well you've kept up with the Muggle world, Hermione. But you should realise that it has never been a _'nice' _place. Why should the wizarding world be any different?"

**oooOooo**


	44. A White and Woolly Christmas

**A White and Woolly Christmas **

Outside, the world was drowning in white. It had been snowing for three days straight now. The lake was completely frozen and some of the icicles hanging from the merlons of the parapet were as big as First Year students.

Inside, fires blazed in every room, and the flagstones in the hallways and dungeons of the castle had been enchanted to function as magical underfloor heating.

Now, just a week before Christmas, everyone was in high spirits. The students that had returned to Hogwarts for the accelerated Seventh Year had sat their NEWTs just a week ago. They would receive their results on Christmas day – a present most of them looked forward to with very mixed feelings.

Most of them, that was. Neville Longbottom was standing behind Professor Sprout right now and grinning like a fool.

"… if _he_ gets to have an apprentice," Professor Sprout was saying, "then I don't see why _I _shouldn't have one, too. I'm as much a Master of my subject as Professor Snape is, and I have just as much work teaching and as head of house as he does."

"I rather doubt that handling a handful of harmless Hufflepuffs amounts to quite the same challenge as supervising Slytherins," Professor Snape sneered, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down his long nose at the dumpy, wild-haired witch.

Instantly the glow on Neville's face diminished, like a Muggle light bulb being turned down a notch. Hermione snorted, then sheepishly ducked her head when her master directed a dark scowl at her. She knew very well that Professor Snape would have no say in the decision of whether or not Professor Sprout took Neville on as her apprentice. If Neville passed his NEWTs with satisfactory grades and Headmistress McGonagall agreed, there was no reason why he shouldn't get the position if Professor Sprout was willing to take him on.

Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat and irritably narrowed her eyes at Snape over the rims of her glasses. "I think the results of Mr. Longbottom's NEWTs are due on Christmas day, Pomona. Maybe we should resume this conversation then?"

**oooOooo **

Peals of laughter caught her attention. Headmistress McGonagall looked down at the long tables of the Great Hall and frowned. Not far from the dais, a group of students occupied the end of one of the tables, playing an enchanted board game. Two Slytherins – Alina Petrel and Geilis Duncan – along with a Ravenclaw girl, Prudentia Halleywell, all of them First Years, and a Hufflepuff Second Year. Percely Parkinson was the younger brother of Pansy; originally an embarrassment to his family for having been Sorted into Hufflepuff, he now served as their favourite proverbial fig leaf.

"Tadaaa! I proudly present … _the monopoly card!_ And now I want to see sheep, ladies and gentleman, give me your sheep, come on, herd them over!" Alina's voice rang with bright with glee.

Geilis sighed, Prue scowled, but both girls tapped the small wooden sheds set up on the table before them with their wands and proceeded to prod what looked like miniature sheep over towards Alina's shed. Percely didn't move, but glowered at Alina instead.

"Come on, Perce, I _know_ you've got some sheep in there. Hand them over!"

Percely still didn't budge.

McGonagall felt her eyebrows rise. Sometimes Hufflepuff steadfastness went hand in hand with Hufflepuff pigheadedness in a rather unfortunate way.

"Peeerce. Perce! Oh, for GOD'S SAKE! I'll hex you into that desert down there if you don't give me your sheep right now."

Percely, by now in full denial, had crossed his arms in front of his chest and was shaking his head. "I need my sheep."

Alina had had enough. She whipped out her wand, pointed it at Percely's shed and cried, "_Accio_ sheep!"

Unfortunately she flicked her wand rather too energetically, and a number of tiny woollen objects zoomed past her head towards the teachers' table.

Hot tea spattered over Minerva's hand. A marble-sized something was paddling frantically in her cup, bleating with fright.

"Merlin's ba– beard!" the Headmistress cried, plucking the tiny creature out of her cup and holding it away from her with stiff, elegant fingers, so the droplets of tea dripping from the animal's sodden coat wouldn't hit her frilly blouse.

"Miss Petrel!" She stalked down to the long table. "Five points from Slytherin. We do not threaten to hex other students. And a detention to be served with Professor Flitwick. By now you really should have more control with that charm. If you do play with games with enchanted figures, treat them respectfully."

"Yes, Headmistress." The small face paled, the dark eyes growing huge and frightened. Minerva ignored her, and turned to Percely Parkinson. "And ten points from Hufflepuff. If you agree to join in a board game, Mr. Parkinson, you will follow the rules of that game."

**oooOooo **

Snape and Harry had arrived early for the Order meeting. While Harry expected Hermione to show up on time, he also knew that she was doing some last minute Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley.

_Probably buying something for her master,_ he thought with some discomfiture. _But of course she would. It was only proper, and given The Plan …_

He sighed and pretended to be intensely interested in the showers of sleet that were pounding the high windows of the library in Grimmauld Place No.12. But out of the corner of his eye he unobtrusively observed the Potions master, who was hiding behind the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

Snape looked weary and sick.

Small wonder. There had been another attack. Another family of Muggle-born wizards killed in their beds. Father, mother, two children, one of them just a baby. All dead, and no sign of whoever had murdered them.

Finally Snape lowered the paper. Their eyes met, and when Snape failed to utter one of his customary acerbic remarks, Harry sighed again. Snape not snarky? That was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

**oooOooo**


	45. All I Want For Christmas

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**All I Want For Christmas **

The Mark was gone. Only scars were left. If enough time passed, the Muggle Physician had told him, even they would fade.

But he still dreamed of the skull and the snake coiling around his arm. First the faint lines grew clearer, until they were black like coal on his white skin. Then a burning sensation crept over the tattoo. Increased. Warmth, heat. Fire! When he tried to flex his fingers, they remained frozen. Pain throbbed in his arm. Sweat formed on his forehead, ran down his cheeks. His throat constricted, his breath hitched, reduced to gasps, as the pain increased. Until the black lines burst apart. Charred like coal, the skin peeled back around the Mark, revealing raw flesh. Still he burned. And he couldn't avert his gaze. His flesh crumbled away until only bones remained, strangely white and fragile. A gust of wind tore at him. And his bones turned to dust.

He lay clutching his arm while his tears grew cold. At last he turned onto his back and counted his heartbeats. Finally he rose, went to the window. Turned back. Passed the table with the newspapers. Five attacks. Eighteen dead. Ten adults. Eight children. And one cat. Turned around. Back to the window. And again.

Three years. He'd hoped for only three years! Of relative peace. Of well-known routines and small comforts. No nightmares. Control over his life. Better yet: Control over his death, thanks to a perfect plan that would grant him a painless end at the date of his choice.

_Now …_ He stared at the picture below the headline. A balding, middle-aged wizard, his arm around a dumpy witch, smiling at him. _Now the Dark was rising again. _

He gazed across the lake towards the Forbidden Forest. Pearlescent mists drifted over the frozen surface. Beyond, the woods beckoned. _The woods are lovely, dark and deep … _

_The darkest evening of the year._ And then there was Christmas, the day of gifts and fake smiles.

_It would be nicely symbolic, _he surmised. _And for the first – and the last time in his life – he'd receive the gift he really wanted. _

**oooOooo **

It was incredibly difficult to find a suitable Christmas present for Professor Snape. Hermione wanted to give him something special, something he would cherish and value. Yet it also needed to be appropriate, something an apprentice could give to her master. In the end she had Charmed Muggle CDs to produce their music at a wand-tip, choosing songs Professor Snape seemed to have enjoyed at the Slytherin House party. Hermione was quite pleased with the result.

As she approached his library, she imagined his reaction. That special smirk. Maybe an appreciative glint in his black eyes?

But when she stood before him, she knew instantly that something was wrong. He was even paler than usual, his sallow skin tinged with yellow. "Miss Granger? What are you doing here? The feast is in the Great Hall."

"I've come to bring you your Christmas gift, sir. I hope you like it. I've created the Charms myself."

He appeared startled, almost shocked at her words. For a second she caught a hint of unbearable sadness in his fathomless eyes. Suddenly she felt scared.

"Ah, yes," Professor Snape sneered. "Christmas … a day of celebration and exchanging … gifts."

"Tell me, Miss Granger, have you ever wondered why I have taken you on as my Apprentice?" he asked silkily.

"I – Yes, of course I have, sir. I assumed that–"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Let that be my gift to you," he announced, "I shall tell you why I accepted you. And then I shall ask _you_ for something in return. For the only … _gift_ … shall we say … that I will _ever_ ask of you."

She frowned. Her heart began to race. _But if he wants to ask me to marry him, why does he look so awful? _

"It's just a little thing," he murmured. "Something you are Bound to do anyway, by your oath and by your blood."

Her breath caught in her throat, as a horrible premonition gripped her. _What if he did not want to marry her? What if he did not _ever_ want to marry? _

"Sir," she started.

But he would not let her speak. Anger flared in his eyes, as he swooped down on her. "I shall ask no more of _you_ than Dumbledore asked of _me_. Surely even a bloody Gryffindor such as you can one, just one time in my life give to me what I really want!"

His gift slipped from her grasp. "No," she cried, her voice shrill with anguish. "Please! At least hear me out – please!"

"Why should I –"

"Just three minutes, please! I promise – I _will_ do whatever you order me to do, even help you to – to – I did swear – just hear me out, please!"

He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Very well."

"Sir, please! I can – I can understand that you don't want to go to Azkaban. I mean, who'd ever want to go to Azkaban. No one," she babbled. "And I also understand if you don't want a wife, I mean, I _know_ that you loved Lily Potter."

Though she didn't _really_ understand. Lily had married someone else, for God's sake!

"Maybe – _we_ – there could be another solution!" she stammered. " There must be a loophole! Something. I'm smart, I can find a way."

"Please," she begged. "Let me try! I promise, if there's no other way, I'll do it. Just not yet. Not when there is still time –" She fell silent, choking on her tears. She couldn't look away from him, from his eyes, so black, so bleak.

"Please," she rasped. "Don't ask this of me. Not yet."

He slumped down on one of the armchairs near the fireplace. The silence grew, expanded, reached for her, stranged her.

"Very well," he sighed at last. "Not yet. Now go."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** The title of the chapter alludes to Mariah Carey's song "All I Want For Christmas Is You". And, as zeegrindylows reminded me, to the movie "Love Actually".

The nightmare in the first part of the chapter contains entirely intentional textual references to the first chapter of Frank Herbert's novel "Dune".

The line "the dark is rising" is a quote based on the title of the fantasy series by Susan Cooper.

The second-to-last line of the first part of the chapter is a quote from the poem "Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost.

Music as Hermione's gift for Snape was suggested by Leany, thanks a lot!


	46. Worrying and Worse

**Worrying and Worse **

Harry Potter was worried. This was nothing new. Rather, it was his customary state of mind. In fact, he barely remembered how it felt not being worried, or worse.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed the scar on his forehead, before turning his attention back to Hermione's letter.

Harry was aware of the conditions of Hermione's apprenticeship. She had explained the magical contract very carefully to him, since its clauses meant she would probably not be able to tell him about some developments concerning The Plan. She was sworn to keep her master's secrets. Things might come up that she couldn't tell him, even if she wanted to. Harry would have to read between the lines.

He sighed and read the letter again.

_… I am glad Christmas is over. All that noise and turmoil, you cannot concentrate at all. The apprenticeship is really demanding. Sometimes I wonder about failure. How do you live with yourself when the best you can do simply isn't good enough? Oh well, I am probably overreacting – you know me. … _

Hermione had looked awful at the last Order meeting. Her face had a pinched, painful look, the skin almost as pasty as Snape's, plum-coloured circles under her eyes. She'd been jumpy, too. Nervous. And when she'd picked up her glass of pumpkin juice, her hand had been shaking.

Come to think of, Snape hadn't looked a whit better. Harry frowned in concentration. A good part of his auror training was devoted to noticing things, little details that other wizards would miss. While Hermione guarded Snape's secrets, Lois Petrel was not bound by any oaths or magical contracts. (Another frown and a mental note – one of these days he had to look into whatever was going on between Lois and Ron.) Anyway, Lois had told Ron about the incident with the Dark Mark and its subsequent removal by Muggle means. Ron in turn had told Harry, who'd had enough by that time of all that talking around corners and had gone straight to McGonagall. At first pretending that she didn't know what he was talking about, the Headmistress' frustration had finally made her spill the whole story.

Apparently recurring nightmares had pushed Snape into using Dark Magic of all things to try to remove the Mark, almost killing him in the process. McGonagall had been utterly furious at Snape's unprecedented foolhardiness and lack of trust. But Harry suspected that Minerva's uncharacteristically emotional reaction to the incident was mainly due to her concern for the well-being of the Potions master.

_Well-being, my arse, _he thought, his mind jumping to the latest news from the Ministry of Magic. With Umbridge appointed the new Probations Officer, Snape's happiness was the least of their worries. Arthur had managed to get his hands on Umbridge's timetable, and it seemed her first check-up visit with the notorious ex-Death Eater was scheduled for the second week of January.

He put Hermione's letter on the table, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. Placing his palms on either side of the missive, he leant over the table, scanning the lines once more.

Something really bothered him about that letter. Something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

_How do you live with yourself when the best you can do simply is not good enough? _

He couldn't say why, but there was something about that question that chased shivers down his spine. Harry shook himself. _It's probably my imagination, an overreaction on my part,_ he thought. _Just an augurey flying over my grave … _

DAMN. Grave. That was it. _How do you live with yourself_ – a question that implied an alternative. Death.

Overreacting. _Reacting._ Something must have happened.

**oooOooo **

_"Arbroath,"_ he muttered, and the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the office of the Headmistress slid aside. While Professor Dumbledore's passwords had reflected his sweet-tooth, Professor McGonagall attempted to educate anyone who had access to her office in the history of Scotland.

Arbroath for instance, Harry's reasearch had revealed, referred to a declaration of Scottish independence and confirmation of Scotland's status as a sovereign state in 1320.

As the revolving staircase elevated him to the office, he wondered how the hell he should go about discussing Snape and Hermione with the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

**oooOooo **

When Harry Potter announced his desire to discuss Severus Snape and Hermione Granger with her, Minerva McGonagall cast a longing glance at the shelf that held her impressive collection of single malt whiskies. Unfortunately – and contrary to the beliefs of her beloved grandfather, who had held fast to the conviction that it was never too early for a wee dram – the headmistress didn't regard eleven o' clock on a Sunday morning as the appropriate time to indulge in the water of life.

"Well," she said, adjusting her spectacles. Harry appeared to be more than concerned. And he did not have the doubtful pleasure to observe the Potions Master and his apprentice on a daily basis. "Well," she repeated, took off her glasses and carefully rubbed them clean with an embroidered handkerchief.

"As far as her apprenticeship is concerned, Hermione is doing very well indeed. She is teaching the First and the Second Years and supervising the study groups of the Third and the Fourth Years. Additionally she is involved in Professor Snape's private research and has started a potions project of her own."

"Yes, yes." Impatiently Harry waved away those technical details. "I want to know _how_ they are. I know that Hermione is _doing_ well, she's Hermione, for God's sake."

"Not well, I'm afraid. Not well at all."

Since the Wizengamot had pronounced the ridiculous conditions for Snape's probation, not a day had passed when she hadn't worried about the younger man. While Minerva admired Hermione's determination to save Severus' life, she had rather serious doubts concerning the young woman's plan and its prospects of success.

And to top things off she had to allow Umbridge inside Hogwarts again. The evening and the opportunity to enjoy a rather hefty nightcap really couldn't come too soon.

**oooOooo**


	47. Black Rose

**Black Rose  
**

"Dolores."

A wave of sweet musk drifted to her, almost making her gag with revulsion.

"Minerva."

"What a lovely scent you are wearing." Minerva's polite smile froze into a grimace on her face.

"Isn't it amazing, it's the most magical perfume I've ever had," Umbridge gushed. "Now, about this meeting … I have to appraise myself of the situation of convicts that have been released under probation and to ascertain that the requirements of the relevant probations' conditions are met.

"There is really no need to look so worried, Minerva, I am sure you've been doing a wonderful job of keeping an eye on Snape," simpered Umbridge.

"Thank you." Minerva's tone was so sour it curdled the milk in her tea. _Next time Umbridge shows up, order Earl Grey, _she noted mentally, as she reached for a stack of papers on her desk. "This is _Professor_ Snape's schedule. And copies of my weekly reports."

"Hem hem." With grunts that reminded McGonagall of a pig looking for truffles, Umbridge rifled through the parchments in her pudgy hands.

"I see that you have allowed him to patrol the castle. And you've even granted him free evenings. Are you sure that is wise, Minerva?" Umbridge's eyelashes fluttered, reminding McGonagall of the twitching legs of flies in the throes of death.

Clamping firmly down on a vision of a giant fly swatter, Minerva forced herself to reply without outright hostility. She couldn't afford to antagonise Umbridge. "I was not aware that the conditions of his probation contained any implication that I am supposed to curtail his freedom of movement, especially within the castle."

"Of course, of course. I just meant to say … in some situations it _is_ wiser to err on the side of caution, isn't it? After all, he was one of the most dangerous followers of V– V– of the Dark Lord."

**oooOooo **

"Well, well, Severus," Umbridge simpered from behind the dragon-clawed desk. Snape could just imagine Minerva's face at having her study appropriated by the Probations Officer.

He was not surprised to see that there was no chair provided for him. Drawing himself up to his full height, he had a hard time to keep himself from imperiously crossing his arms in front of his chest. But even he knew that it was not exactly smart to start out with annoying Umbridge with the simple expedient of body language.

"Dolores," Snape sneered. Somehow he managed to resist the temptation of mimicking her silly mannerism.

"It's Ms. Umbridge for you, Snape."

He smirked as the sugary sweetness drained from Umbridge's voice. Her round eyes bulged a little as she leant forwards, pushing the expanse of her pink cleavage onto the desk. His nostrils flared as he caught the cloying candied scent of her perfume. Idly he wondered how many jarveys had died for that perfume, while listening with half an ear to her sermon delineating the preposterous conditions for his probation.

"… so what have you been doing in order to fulfil the requirements of your probation, Snape?"

"Are you interested, Ms. Umbridge?" He quirked an eyebrow. Red spots of rage appeared on Umbridge's cheekbones, and her bosom heaved under layers of garish tweed. He felt a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and swiftly continued, as it was probably not the best of his ideas to drive his Probations Officer into apoplexy, "Whatever I choose to do about the conditions of my probation, Ms. Umbridge, is solely between myself and the Wizarding Genealogy Offices.

"And the lucky witch," he added as an afterthought, painfully aware of how bitter his voice suddenly sounded.

Umbridge's slack, wide mouth expanded into a malicious smile. "Dear Severus, surely a hero of the war and a martyr for the cause will be able to find one witch willing to sacrifice herself in gratitude?"

She obviously didn't expect him to reply. Instead she went on, her high voice shrill and cutting, "And if I were you, dear Severus, I wouldn't underestimate the influence of the Wizengamot on the other offices of the Ministry."

**oooOooo **

Hermione's feet dragged as she walked towards the office of Headmistress McGonagall for her interview with Umbridge. The badly hidden stares of the students she passed in the corridors were burning holes into the back of her robes.

She wasn't ready for this. She was so damn tired. Even with Professor Snape's anti-Cruciatus potions to ward off another relapse, her bones and joints ached, and she could sleep all day. A turn of phrase from the book she was reading with the Slytherins meandered through her mind: _"thin, like butter spread over too much bread"_. Yes, that was exactly how she felt. And worse, her mental state affected her magic.

If Umbridge tried anything, Hermione knew she wouldn't have the strength to defend herself. But of course that was stupid. Umbridge was a Ministry official. She wouldn't "try" anything. And besides, during her time as High Inquisitor, Umbridge hadn't been able to do Legilimency, so why should she able to do it now?

Still, for some reason Hermione's thoughts revolved around Occlumency as she approached the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Minerva's office.

_How did it work,_ she wondered. _Building a shield around your thoughts._ She envisioned something like a tower to guard her mind. The sturdy donjon of a medieval castle. Huge, solid slabs of stone, surrounding her thoughts, sheltering her secrets.

Once inside, Umbridge fixed her protuberant eyes on Hermione and cut straight to the chase. "What is your relationship to the Potions Master Severus Snape?"

Hermione stared at the bloated face of the witch and tried to concentrate on her tower. In vain. Walls crumbled, stones splintered. Instead of her safe tower, all Hermione could think of was a black rose under a glass globe, beautiful, thorny, yet strangely fragile.

"I am his apprentice."

"Is that all?"

The glass shattered. For a moment the deep, seductive scent of rose blossoms enveloped her.

_No,_ Hermione thought, _it isn't_.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The rose in the glass globe alludes to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "Le Petit Prince".


	48. Dumbledore's Army

**The Most Noble and Venerable Knights of Dumbledore's Army **

"Remember that you must tell the truth, Miss Granger. You must always tell the truth. If you lie to me, it shall cost you dearly."

"If you are quite finished? My apprentice has other duties to attend to yet today." A silky voice slithered into the room.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't dare to move, fixing her gaze on the dragon feet of McGonagall's desk instead.

"Not until I am finished with her." There was nothing girly to Umbridge's voice now.

"Leave my apprentice out of this," Snape snarled.

Umbridge snorted. "Or?" she asked with an evil smirk.

Snape never missed a beat, "Or _you_ shall suffer the consequences."

Umbridge's squat figure recoiled as if struck, her broad, flabby face whipping up and around towards the door. Hidden in the shadows of the doorway, Snape loomed, his black eyes blazing.

"Is that a threat?"

"Wouldn't it be very … _foolish_ … for a man in my position to utter … threats?"

Umbridge's mouth dropped open.

"Yes," she squeaked at last. "It would be. Very foolish."

Black eyes bored into her and underneath the pink rouge, her cheeks went pale.

"If that is the case," Snape said softly, "then by all means regard my words … as a joke."

**oooOooo **

"If we want to be proper knights, we need to have an ordeal," Alina declared and looked imperiously at her friends. A motley group of First Years and Second Years had squeezed into a linen closet on the third floor. There were four Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws and four Gryffindors. Yet somehow the linen closet managed to be just big enough for all of the would-be knights to find a stack of blankets to perch on.

"Yes," Myrrdin agreed importantly. "Some kind of vigil at least. I've read in the Quibbler that the ritual for entering the Order of the Phoenix demands that you stay a whole night all alone in the Chamber of Secrets."

Geilis and Prue clung together, looking scared. Percely Parkinson frowned, but there was a look of determination on his face.

Ebenezer Sibly-Style, a First Year Slytherin, steepled his fingers in his best imitation of his head of house. "If we want to belong to Dumbledore's Army, I should think a vigil at the tomb of the most reverred hero of our order would be an appropriate ritual to determine if someone is worthy to join our ranks."

"A vigil at the tomb sounds good," Alyah, a well-read Ravenclaw girl agreed.

"And afterwards," Terrwyn Bevan suggested, "just before sunrise we could have the initiation ritual, you know with handing over our seal and so on."

"But that means we'll all have to be out of bed and out of our houses!" Prue sounded scared.

Percely threw her a disgusted look. "If you want to be a hero, you need to take certain risks."

"Are you sure you're in the right house, mate?" Barret Cruddace asked, grinning, while Percely scowled.

"Well, maybe we could have the initiation conducted only by our grandmaster and the two seneschals," Alina suggested sensibly. "That way only four of us would need to slip out at night. If we're careful, no one will notice. Professor Snape is still recovering from that potions accident. His rounds are much shorter than they used to be."

"Yes," Cruddace put in, "because the great git is afraid that Umbridge will catch him and ship him directly to Azkaban."

"DON'T SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT, YOU JERK!" Alina jumped up, balling her hands into fists, ready to defend her head of house in battle or brawl.

Myrrdin quickly stepped in front of Barret, while Geilis hung on to Alina's arm.

"Calm _down_ everyone," Ebenezer said softly, but with astonishing authority. "Crudass, remember rule number two. There will be _no_ house-rivalry among the knights of our order. And that includes insulting any head of house, no matter how many points they may have taken from any house on any given day."

"Crudass?" Myrrdin prodded his house-mate. "I think there's something you want to say."

Barret glared at Myrrdin, but the effect was spoiled by the embarrassed red flush on his face. "I'm sorry, Alina. He's not a git. He's a hero. I wish I was as brave as he is."

He gnawed on his lower lip, then he added, "But I bet that cow would love nothing better than carting him off right away."

Gloom settled among the prospective knights of the Most Noble and Venerable Order of Dumbledore's Army. They all knew about the conditions of Professor Snape's probation.

"I wish I was of age," Terrwyn whispered. "I'd propose to him in a jiffy."

"Me, too," sighed Alyah.

"Me, three," added Alina and frowned, as an idea struck her. Her heartbeat quickened, and suddenly she was quite impatient for the Order meeting to end. Decisively she turned to Barret and offered him her hand. "Forgiven and forgotten, Barret."

"Now," she turned to the appointed grandmaster. "Who'll do the first vigil?"

Ebenezer looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then he smiled. "You, of course. Since it was your idea to re-establish our order."

Alina swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She would be a worthy knight to Dumbledore. She would bring honour to her house.

"How do we go about it, then?" Percely asked.

Everyone turned to Cato. Although only a First Year, the Ravenclaw boy was already known for his brilliant strategies at wizarding chess. Cato put a finger next to his nose, a sure-fire sign that he was thinking, and thinking hard.

"The first thing we have to do," he announced, "is to find out the patterns of the teachers' rounds. We need to know exactly who of the staff is where at any given moment. We'll have to watch them carefully, and note down everything we see. That way, we will know when it's safe to slip out."

He sniffed contemplatively. "Maybe we could even bewitch a map or something for that purpose."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The names of all the would-be knights and explanations of their meaning can be found as a goody in my forums here at FFNet (you can find the link at the top of my profile page). Oh, and the first rule for our noble knights is of course that you don't talk about the Order. As that's always the first rule.


	49. Ordeal of Knighthood

**Ordeal of Knighthood**

Alina was grateful that Hermione had shown her how to conjure up a flame and keep it safely in a jar. She used an old jam glass, hidden inside a woollen bonnet so it wouldn't give her away.

It had been easier to slip out than expected. The most difficult part had been to remain patient during the previous weeks, when they'd worked on analysing the schedules of the grown-ups. But it had been worth it. They were sooo predictable. Apart from Professor Snape, they all stuck to a certain routine with only very few variations. Even Mrs. Norris' rounds had a pattern to them.

_Really, sometimes adults were too stupid._ _What if they were not a couple of students sneaking out after curfew,_ Alina mused. _However had they managed to defeat Voldemort if they couldn't even make sure that everyone stayed put at night?_

In spite of her jam-jar fire and being bundled up in onion-like layers of clothing, Alina shivered. March was still very cold in the Highlands. And dark. The castle and grounds were wrapped in the black shadows of a moonless night. Even the gleaming white marble of the tomb looming ahead of her did little to dispel the gloom.

A rustling sound made her start. The frantic beating of her heart pulsed right up to her ears. But the Forbidden Forest was a safe distance away. None of its creatures would venture to the hill above the lake where Dumbledore's tomb looked eastwards. And the tomb was warded. Not as strong as the castle, but it was protected. She was perfectly safe. And besides, Ebenezer, Adrastus and Alyah were only a few hundred yards away, down in the new boathouse at the lake. If she shouted, they'd come running at once. She listened hard, but now everything was still. After a while she relaxed and her thoughts returned to her vigil.

She'd attempted to prepare herself properly, she'd showered for cleansing, though she'd been too chicken for cold water. And she'd fasted, sort of. She hadn't had trifle for dessert, although that was her favourite pudding.

_Okay. So what should a Knight of Dumbledore be like?_ Alina contemplated. _Fearless and brave, of course. Defending the Light. Standing up for others, even if you didn't like them. Like Crudass, _she supposed._ Helping anyone in need …_

Her thoughts turned to the one person she knew who needed help most at the moment. Her head of house. At first glance that was a truly tricky problem. But she felt a grin spread on her face. At second glance, the solution was rather simple.

After all Alina _had_ observed how Miss Granger looked at the Potions Master when she thought no one else was noticing.

Slowly the dark hours of the night crept by …

**oooOooo **

A flash like lightning blinded Alina. Blue fire flared up to the sky, illuminating the lake and castle for a second, before the boom of an explosion shattered the stillness of the night. Instinctively she threw up her hands to shield her eyes, just in time to see the white marble walls of the tomb in front of her crack and expand outwards. The blast of the detonation knocked her backwards, throwing her down like a rag-doll. Then the nightly darkness was back, blacker and more impenetrable than before.

Alina never saw the hail of debris raining down on her.

**oooOooo **

After Umbridge's visit, sleep proved elusive for Snape. He couldn't get her face out of his mind, the revolting doll-like mask of pink lipstick and rouge, the coldness in her gaze, the malice in her voice as she had tried to intimidate Hermione. Cold fury coiled inside him, whenever he recalled the haunted expression on Hermione's face.

No one threatened his apprentice.  
No one. Least of all that stinking toad. That upstart panjandrum. That vile …

His pacing brought him back to the window. He could barely make out the white corner of Dumbledore's tomb in the gloom of the moonless night. He sighed, his fingers moving up to his throbbing temples, when a blue blaze burst into the sky at the edge of the lake. The instant when the thunder of an explosion rolled over the surface of the lake with ear-numbing crack, everything went dark again. For a moment he felt the foundations of Hogwarts tremble around him.

Then the newly installed emergency system of the castle kicked in. Bright lights flooded every room and hallway. The four houses were sealed with the strongest wards imaginable, and the recorded and magically amplified voice of the headmistress roared from the very stones of the keep: "Students, gather in the common rooms of your houses. Prefects, conduct a headcount. Teachers, once all students are accounted for, meet in the Great Hall."

Snape was out of the room before McGonagall had finished the first sentence. He never stopped to knock, simply throwing open the door to Hermione's room, barely noticing the short second when her naked breasts were exposed to his view, before she managed to draw down the jumper over her head. With one hand he picked up her apprentice's robes, with the other he grabbed her arm. "Go to the common room and stay there until I return. If anything happens, use your badge to summon me."

Then he was gone, disappearing through the portrait hole into the corridor of the dungeons.

**oooOooo **

Inside Slytherin house panicked students were running in crazy circles, when Hermione entered.

"Calm down!" she shouted. But no one was listening. Frowning in concentration, she put her wand against her throat. She knew the theory of the amplification spell, but she'd never used it before.

**"CALM DOWN!"** she roared.

Everyone froze on the spot. The silence was absolute.

"Prefects," Hermione started, scanning the assembled students, "is everyone here?"

Icy fear washed over her, as Hermione realised at a glance that at least one her students was missing.

Alina Petrel was not in the common room.  
Nor was Ebenezer Sibly-Styles.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Cats follow certain paths to check on their territory, so Mrs. Norris would definitely be following patterns. And most people are creatures of habit, so eventually the kids would be able to come up with a schedule for everyone's rounds. Especially since poor Professor Snape has been so distracted lately.

Thanks to Leany who helped me sort out the plot for this chapter and the technical details of minor and major explosions.


	50. Hell Freezes Over

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Hell Freezes Over**

The weekend after the explosion, the Order of the Phoenix convened at Grimmauld Place, Number 12. The meeting was unusual for a number of reasons. For one, it was the first time since Voldemort's defeat that the Order was on the wizarding equivalent of "red alert". For another, there was a Muggle present and the son of a well-known Death Eater was down in the sound-proofed kitchen, babysitting the orphaned grandson of Order members.

The sitting room had been enchanted into a spacious conference room, complete with an u-shaped arrangement of tables and a screen at the front. The younger Order members were seated on the right side of the room, with the older members – including Hermione, who sat next to her master, with Lois Petrel at her other side – facing them.

Minerva McGonagall was coming to the conclusion of her report as the picture of the gravesite flickered on the screen. Only the foundations of the tomb was still intact. The walls and roof had been reduced to a pile of rubbish strewn in a diameter of roughly twenty yards. Beyond that line white marble dust covered the grass for a further seventy or eighty yards.

"The tomb was completely destroyed," McGonagall said. "Neither the Hogwarts staff nor the Aurors have been able to determine if anything was removed from the tomb."

"Do you have any idea about the identity of the perpetrators?" Andromeda asked.

Bill Weasley shook his head. As a former curse breaker for Gringotts, he'd been the Order's greatest hope of finding out more about the explosion. "Nope. There's no trace at all of whoever caused the explosion. They used _kobalite_ – but they could have gotten that anywhere. We used that in Egypt, but the Americans use it, too. And the French."

"What about the children?" Ron asked. "Did they see anything? How is Alina doing?"

Hermione frowned at the easy familiarity with which Ron said the name of Lois' daughter. She knew that Ron had met Lois again. But somehow she'd never considered … Lois was eight years older than Ron! Quite an age difference. Though not as much of a difference as between herself and … She bit down on her lip and hoped that her cheeks merely felt hot, and were not colouring with a self-conscious flush.

Ron looked shocked when Snape raised his head to answer his question, though Hermione wasn't surprised. It had been hard on her master when it turned out that two of his own had been the ringleaders of a potentially lethal escapade.

"Miss Petrel is still in the hospital wing," Professor Snape said in a soft, tired voice. "She is recovering from a severe concussion, which cannot be treated with magical means. She suffered numerous smaller injuries, lacerations and bruises, including a fracture of her right arm, which have been completely healed by now." He nodded at Lois, his eyes dark with remorse. "Miss Petrel was unconcscious for two days. But she is expected to make a full recovery. Unfortunately she remembers nothing about the incident except being knocked backwards by the explosion. Mr. Sibly-Styles, Mr. Alger and Miss Beiond were hiding in the boathouse, playing exploding snap. They didn't see or hear anything until the explosion took place."

"What exactly were those foolish children doing out there at night in the first place?" Andromeda asked. "And how is it possible that you didn't notice what they were up to, Severus?" The war had turned the orderly witch stern, and the accusation in her tone was impossible to miss.

"I am –"

"Andromeda, this is not –"

"There is no –"

Hermione, Minerva and Professor Snape started together, with Hermione the quickest to continue after a moment of awkward silence.

"As Professor Snape's apprentice I am the teacher of the First Years and Second Years. I should have noticed they were up to something. I knew, of course, that there has been some kind of –" She cast an uncomfortable glance at her master. "Well, a kind of hero-worship going on, especially among the lower level classes, directed at Harry, Professor Snape, and mainly at Albus Dumbledore. Somehow the children came up with the idea of re-establishing Dumbledore's Army as an order of knights, and the ordeal of knighthood included spending a night in vigil at Dumbledore's tomb."

Lois groaned, and Molly Weasley harumphed pointedly. Ron chuckled.

"Plucky lass," he murmured, and winked at Lois.

"What has been done about the children?" Percy asked, his voice rife with disapproval.

Before Hermione could answer, Professor Snape spoke again, "75 house-points have been taken from each of the students who left the castle at night for no good reason and without permission. Additionally, they have to serve three detentions. They were asked to supply the names of their fellow _'knights'_, but declined to do so. A decision for which they were rewarded with five points each. –

"As for your earlier question, Andromeda, I assume full responsibility. I am the Head of Slytherin House, and I should have realised that something was afoot," Snape added wearily. "My only explanation – please note, I do _not _and will _not_ make any _excuses_ for my failings – is that something as … thoroughly _Gryffindor_ as this mad scheme has never occurred in the history of Slytherin House before."

Ron snickered, then grinned broadly at Lois, completely failing to notice her agonised embarrassment.

"Can we please get back to our topic now?" Harry asked with barely veiled impatience. "We really have more important things to discuss right now than the pranks of some First Year dunderheads playing heroes."

Snape's eyebrows quirked, faint surprise glinted in his eyes. At his most caustic, the Potions Master went on, "Indeed. – Ladies and gentlemen, it has happened at last: _hell has frozen over. _For once I find myself in complete agreement with Potter.

"Pleasant though it must be to discuss my shortcomings as a teacher and head of house, we _do_ have more important things to discuss here tonight."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **In case you've forgotten - Draco lives with Andromeda, so that's who's in the kitchen with Teddy.

"Kobalite" is derived from Greek roots of the word "goblin", "kobalos".

Ron admires Alina's resourcefulness and mischievousness, he never notices how mortifying it would be for a parent to hear not only about how your kid broke all kinds of rules for no good reason and could have been killed in the process.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	51. Muggle Mythology

**Muggle Mythology**

Harry ignored Snape's comment – along with Hermione's astonished look, when he didn't rise to the bait – and went on, "I assume the attacks on Muggle-born wizards and the destruction and desecration of Dumbledore's tomb are linked. Does anyone have any idea of what could be behind this? The Office and the SSS haven't come up with anything useful."

Everyone looked at Harry. Then everyone looked away.

Silence spread. Lengthened. Grew heavy.

Finally Snape spoke again, "Are you at all familiar with Muggle mythology, Potter? How about a random quote to test your proficiency? _'At the worst our Enemy knows that we have it not, and that it still is lost. But what was lost may yet be found …' _– Does that ring a bell? Does anything about that situation sound … _vaguely_ … familiar?"

Harry stared at Snape. The words of the quote did indeed sound eerily familiar. Oh, right. _The Lord of the Rings. _Hermione had given that book to him for Christmas. To his surprise he'd actually liked it. But what had that do to with ...

_… how he'd barely managed to stand there …  
… how he'd just been able to stuff the Invisibility Cloak and his wand out of reach …  
… how the Resurrection Stone had slipped from between his numb fingers …  
… to lie on the ground of the Forbidden Forest for all eternity … _

_… or until … _

"Oh SHIT!" he exclaimed.

Heads swivelled, eyes stared. If things had been different, the reaction of the other Order members would have been amusing. As it was, Harry merely felt tired; very, very tired. With everyone gaping at him, he realised he had to say something. He forced himself to meet Snape's gaze. But what was supposed to be a smile of acknowledgement slipped and turned into painful parody.

"Maybe we're going to get lucky, too," Harry muttered, "and a friendly Hobbit will find that damn stone?"

"Wit, Potter? When did _that _happen?"

**oooOooo **

"So you really believe that someone found the Resurrection Stone?" Hermione asked.

They had returned to Hogwarts right after the meeting. Hermione had barely managed to hurry down to the kitchen for a quick _"hello and goodbye"_ chat with Draco. She hadn't even had a chance to exclaim about how Teddy had grown since she'd seen him last, or at how happy the toddler looked in Draco's arms. She suppressed a sigh; she would have to Owl Draco later on.

Snape turned away from the window. The darkness of the night mercifully hid the site of the explosion. Just as it concealed his expression. The hearthfire had all but died down in the library, filling the room with flickering shadows.

"I don't believe in coincidence," he admitted.

He sounded so unbearably weary. Hermione winced, then she rose to her feet and went to stand next to him, peering up at his face in the twilight.

"So someone has been helping the Death Eaters that are still on the loose? Or has even … taken over the remains of V– Voldemort's organisation? And now … they – whoever they are – may have the Elder Wand in their possession?"

He sighed and nodded. "Of that, at least, I am fairly certain."

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to follow his train of thoughts. "And since Harry lost the Resurrection Stone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, it might … resurface, it could be found again?"

Snape inhaled deeply. "Unfortunately, that is a possibility. However, as you are probably aware of, I _do_ tend to think the worst, so maybe Minerva and the others are right, and my fears are merely the excrescences of an overwrought subconscious." He sneered slightly.

Hermione sucked thoughtfully on her lower lip.

"I'm not so sure," she said, her voice sounding rather small and scared. "Evil things seem to have an awkward tendency to end up in just the wrong hands at just the wrong time.

"However, if I recall correctly what Harry told us about the stone, it was cracked. So maybe it wouldn't work anymore? And at the moment Harry is still the rightful owner of the Elder Wand, so unless he lost to someone in a duel or something, the thief couldn't do much with it, right?"

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with two stiffened fingers. "As I said before, I always think the worst."

Carefully, Hermione stepped closer to her master.

"For good reason," she said softly. "And there are too many conditional clauses in the questions I asked for me to sleep well at night.

"Oh God," she whispered, as a sudden chill made her shudder. "Why can't it end?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he murmured. "I wish I did."

Silence settled around them, only now and again the dying fire in the hearth snapped and popped. The waxing moon sent pale slivers of light into the room, just enough for Hermione to discern the bony contours of his face, his dark eyes, proud nose, thin, sensitive lips. Once more she grew aware of his personal scent. When she inhaled, she shivered again. The tiny hairs on her arms and neck rose up and her nipples prickled.

Black eyes bored into her. Then, barely discernible in the dim light, his stern expression seemed to soften. Somehow they stood even closer than before. His robes almost enfolded her, surrounding her with his fragrance and his warmth. She tilted her head back, mesmerized by his fathomless gaze. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse vibrated in her throat. Her stomach quivered with longing.

Suddenly his lips met hers.

They were soft, dry and warm. Somehow one hand slipped around her waist and the other to the back of her neck. She flowed against him and somehow her hands clung to him, drew him closer still.

Tentatively, she returned his kiss. His embrace tightened around her. At first very lightly, then more and more languidly, his lips caressed hers, until she dizzy with the tenderness of the moment.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Textual allusions in this chapter:

- the quote is what Gandalf said that Saruman said in "The Fellowship of the Ring", "The Council of Elrond"  
- the flashback in italics is almost directly from "Deathly Hallows", "The Forest Again"

In my story it is at the moment the beginning of March 2000. Snape and Hermione have lived and worked together almost a year. Time enough to get used to each other, and maybe ... something more?


	52. Least of All My Life

**Least of All My Life **

Abruptly he drew away from her. In the darkness, the expression on his face was unreadable.

"Good night, Hermione," he said softly. Then he spun on his heel and swept out of the room.

For a few minutes she stood there, rooted to the spot, her heart thundering, her head buzzing, her lips … _burning_, she thought, with the memory of his touch.

At long last she staggered to her room, where she sank down in the armchair near the window. Her fingers strayed to her lips, as if they could conjure up the sensation of his kiss anew. His lips had been like velvet, warm and soft. But insistent. Soothing and thrilling at the same time.

_Why had he kissed her?_

Hermione never went to bed that night, but remained in that armchair. Now and again she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, where her fingertips lingered for a moment in a bemused gesture, before she dropped her hand again.

**oooOooo**

Hermione wasn't surprised when Professor Snape knocked on her door the next morning, asking her to meet him in the library. What _did_ surprise her was the courteous tone in which he voiced his request.

With a pounding a heart and more than a little trepdiation, she entered the room. To her amazement, she noted that Snape had elected to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace instead of choosing to pace and loom over her. He nodded for her to take the other seat.

Gratefully, she slid down on the edge of the chair, her knees unaccountably weak this morning. She cast an apprehensive glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked as if he hadn't had slept anymore than she had.

"What happened last night," he said slowly. "Must not happen again."

Hermione didn't dare to look at thim. Instead she stared at her hands, cold fingers twisted nervously. She had not expected him to open his heart to her after just one kiss, of course. In fact, she had anticipated that he would react badly this morning.

Overseeing the Third and Fourth Year study groups Hermione had not been in a position to escape all discussions about "Professor Snape, the Tragic Hero of the War", including various comparisons of her master with prominent tragic heroes of Muggle and wizarding literature ("Heathcliff all the way" - "I just wish I could be the Tenar to his Ged …") along with diverse dissections of his personality (some of which had actually been quite enlightening). Therefore it seemed quite in character for him to push her away.

It hurt nevertheless.

"But sir!" Now she did look at him, and wished at once that she hadn't. Just a quick glance at him gave her a jolt.

He sighed. "You are my apprentice," he started.

"But what about Perenelle and Nicolas Flamel? They –"

"That was in the bloody Middle Ages," he ground out, his eyes glittering. "Things have changed since then."

"But what about the safeguards in the contract? You couldn't exploit your position even if you wanted to!"

Snape shook his head, the flare of temper extinguished as suddenly as it has blazed up. "Just because there have been … relationships of the intimate kind between masters and apprentices in the past, and just because apprenticeship contracts are bespelled to keep the apprentices safe from abuse does _not _mean that a relationship like that is appropriate, Miss Granger.

"And besides," again that hint of unbearable sadness crept into his voice, "not even I am so cruel as to ask my apprentice to kill me one day, only to turn around and begin an affair with her the next day."

Hermione recoiled as if he'd struck her in the face.

"But sir," she repeated, and wished her voice sounded steadier. "What about the conditions of your –"

He held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

"Hermione."

She didn't look up, but stared at her hands. She wondered if her face was as white as her hands. She certainly felt white. Drained of all colour.

"Hermione. Look at me. _Now._"

She had no choice. She had to obey his order. Reluctantly she turned towards him. She stuck out her chin.

"A kiss is just a kiss," Snape said softly. "It is not a foundation for a marriage and a life together."

"Not even to save your life?" she asked.

She felt as if she was falling into an abyss, when she met his black gaze.

"Least of all to save my life," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I am …" He broke off.

Had he been about to say that he was sorry?

Instead he rose to his feet.

"We will not talk about this again. And now I suggest you get ready for those detentions. I believe the dunderheaded knights will invade the dungeons in approximately 20 minutes."

Black robes swirling, he strode from the room.

**oooOooo **

Back in his room, Snape couldn't settle down in spite of his exhaustion. Although he was weary to his aching bones, he couldn't stop pacing.

_Why had he kissed her?  
What had come over him? _

He wished he could forget how her lips felt. He wished he could forget how her heart fluttered against his chest.

_He wished he'd had the guts to order her to kill him right away that damn day in December._

Snape sighed. Her despair at his – as he saw it, absolutely reasonable request – would no doubt haunt him until he gave that final order.

When that day arrived, he would make sure that she had means at her disposal that were less direct and … devastating for the executor than _"Avada Kedavra"_. That was the least he could do. He was painfully aware that he owed her much more than that. Unfortunately, he felt that he was not in the position to pay his debts to her the way his honour and his heart demanded it of him.

**oooOooo**


	53. The Art of Looking for Trouble

**The Art of Looking for Trouble**

Minerva McGonagall had stayed at Number 12, Grimmauld Place for the night. For better or worse, Sirius' old home was the headquarters of the Order, and Harry, in spite of his youth, her second-in-command. That role should have fallen to Severus, but not even the public display of his memories at his trial had sufficed to dispel the distrust of the wizarding society towards him. She suppressed a sigh. Even some Order members still held on to their grudges where Snape was concerned.

There was much she had to discuss with Harry – at yet another breakfast meeting.

_And when,_ Minerva wondered, _had Harry turned into a morning person?_ More often than not he'd looked like something the cat just dragged in at the breakfast table during his student days.

But in the kitchen an astonishingly bright-eyed, if not exactly bushy-tailed Harry awaited her at a table laden with an even more lavish breakfast than she was accustomed to from Hogwarts. Noticing her frown, Harry shrugged helplessly.

"Kreacher thinks I need to eat more," he explained and proceeded to heap bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast on his plate. Minerva glanced at the young man's lean figure. A good thing Harry had inherited James' active metabolism.

"Well, Harry," Minerva said finally, eyeing him over the rim of her tea cup.

_How a nice cup of Darjeeling never failed to improve her outlook on the world of a morning! And thankfully, as opposed to whisky, tea was a truly universal panacea to be enjoyed at any hour of the day or night._

Harry lifted an eyebrow at her. "Well, Minerva," he mimicked her, almost as disrespectfully as Albus (God rest his soul) had done.

She sniffed slightly and put her cup down. "You offered to give me an appraisal of the situation at the Ministry. Now would be a good opportunity to do so. I suggest you do not waste our time."

That got his attention. "Channelling our dear Potions Master this morning, are you?"

But he put down his cup as well, his expression serious. "The situation is getting out of control, Minerva. You have no idea. We've been able to keep some of the incidents from the press so far, but with the likes of Rita Skeeter breathing down our necks, you can imagine just how long that will last. When everything gets out, we'll have an all-out panic on our hands.  
"We don't have enough manpower to put watch-wizards with each family that has Muggle-born members. And the Aurors are always too late on the scene. Merlin's ballocks, sometimes we arrive when the air is still glowing green with that damn curse, Minerva! They know we're coming almost before we've left the Ministry.  
"You _know_ what that means."

"An informant," Minerva said at once, the cold weight of dread settling into the pit of her stomach. "Someone – or several someones – at the Ministry is collaborating with the Enemy."

"Maybe even within the Office of Aurors," Harry added. Brandishing a fork with a piece of bacon at her, Harry continued, "Unfortunately there is also a very clear pattern to the killings. It all comes down to blood. They kill families. And only families with one or both parents of Muggle origins. Singles and unmarried couples or couples without children they are leaving alone so far. Apart from Voldemort's followers, that fits the agenda of quite a number of pureblood hate-groups.  
"Though what is really the most disconcerting about the whole thing is how methodical and cold-blooded they are. They only want to kill. They don't torture, they don't bother with destruction of property. They go in to kill, and only to kill.  
"The Ministry is at the end of their wits. … and so am I, for that matter."

For a while the kitchen was completely silent save for the sound of Harry making short work of his breakfast.

_There was really not much that could diminish a young wizard's appetite, _Minerva mused. For her part, the older witch was reduced to nervously stirring her tea. The bowl of porridge in front of her remained untouched.

"I hear that a faction of the Wizengamot is already clamouring for a Muggle-borns protection act," Minerva said.

Harry nodded. His first forays into the murky waters of magical politics had been incredibly frustrating. Politicians seemed to distrust heroes about as much as traitors, and contrary to Dumbledore, Minerva's voice carried little to no political clout in the Wizengamot. Additionally, in a society where 150 was regarded as really too young to die, the voice of anyone below the age of fifty simply wasn't taken quite seriously.

"They want to re-open the Muggle-born Registration Commission. This time to protect all Muggle-born witches and wizards. You can imagine the toad's glee." Harry shuddered. Umbridge's background of a well-respected pureblood family and along with her excellent connections at the Ministry and the Wizengamot had once again saved her neck, much to his chagrin. "The mere thought that she can get at Hermione because of her apprenticeship makes my blood run cold! And I can assure you that the very idea of Snape at her mercy causes me nightmares.  
"Though I would appreciate it if you do not share that particular detail with him," he added at his driest. Then he sighed. "No offence, Minerva, but Shacklebolt is too good a man for his office. As is Arthur."

"I am sure that both of them would be the first to agree with you."

"Ha!" Harry cried, amused. "Unfortunately that doesn't help us right now."

Energetically he pushed the empty plate away. "At least I've already managed to make the Wizengamot deeply regret their decision to give me a seat in the aftermath of the victory. We must be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.  
"Andromeda and Draco have been a lot of help. However, if you don't mind, I should like to accompany you to Hogwarts today. I urgently need to consult Dumbledore's portrait about the upcoming session."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the quote "Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it, misdiagnosing it, and misapplying the wrong remedies." from Groucho Marx.

Background - I assume that another part of the probation/punishment of the Malfoy's would be to give the seat in the Wizengamot to Andromeda. Coming from an old pureblood family, she would know a lot about the Wizengamot and as a member of the Order she would be willing to help Harry. As for Draco, I think that changing Teddy's diapers was good for him. So he gets to help Harry, too.


	54. The Most Stupid Thing That People Do

**The Most Stupid Thing That People Do **

At noon Snape found himself in front of McGonagall's office. He had just finished a round through the castle, which had yielded a satisfying total of 144 ¼ House Points. It irked him somewhat that the ¼ point impaired the beauty of the Fibonacci number. It irked him more that he had been forced to take that ¼ point from his own House.

The gargoyle slid aside, and Harry Potter appeared.

Snape jerked back. _What was that boy doing here? _

Potter glanced at him and nodded politely, "Professor. Is Hermione in her room? I thought I might pop in for a moment, if she's not too busy."

"What?" Snape stared at Potter in disbelief. "Is that you, Potter? Or is it your evil twin … or rather, your _'good'_ twin? Which is rather more shocking."

Harry Potter stopped dead and really looked at Snape. The careful scrutiny of those brilliant green eyes was quite discomfiting. A lesser wizard would have squirmed under the young auror's probing stare. Snape merely scowled.

"I have reason to believe that you … may find her in her room." A pause. "It's good of you to come and … see her, Potter."

Potter frowned, and opened his mouth, but at the last moment he seemed to reconsider. He ended up shaking his head instead. "You look like shit, Snape."

Snape's eyebrows shot up.

"Does that convince you that I am myself?" The young man grinned impudently. "And I think Minerva wants to see you. Something about House points, I think."

He nodded again, and strode off towards the staircase, leaving Snape to gape after him.

"You know," Minerva remarked. "He's right. You _do_ look like shit."

**oooOooo **

If there had been any doubt about how much worse for wear he looked, that was dispelled when Minerva poured him a generous dram of Ardbeg the moment they entered her office.

Snape slumped down in one of the armchairs before the fireplace and raised his glass to her. "Cheers."

Minerva took the seat on his right. "What happened, Severus?"

"What happened? What didn't happen?" He contemplated downing the whisky in one gulp. As the Ardbeg was one of Minerva's favourites, he stood a good chance not to survive such a sacrilege. He sipped the whisky, then he put the glass on the table between the armchairs.

"I can't do this, Minerva," he muttered. "The way she looked at me, as if I had broken her heart …"

Now it was Minerva's turn to put her glass aside.

"Severus," she asked carefully. "What have you done to Hermione?"

Snape laughed bitterly. "You gave her to me. You forced me to train up my own successor, and yet you ask that question?"

"Your successor? Severus –"

"But I can't, Minerva. I'm so tired. For a while I thought I might enjoy my last three years … but now … people are being killed left, right, centre." He shook his head. "I'm so tired," he whispered. "Even if she had to take over next week, I am sure that Hermione would … would do a good job. Probably a better job than I ever did."  
He cupped his face with his hands. "I promised not to ask this of her … _yet_ … but I … I don't think I can wait much longer, Minerva. Umbridge wants my head; she wants me in Azkaban even before my probation is over. And I will _not_ go back there."

"Ask what of her?"

He sighed wearily and raised his head to face Minerva. "To kill me, of course."

"Severus … please tell me that I just misheard what you said. You asked Hermione to kill you?"

He shook his head irritably. "No, I did not – I _wanted_ to, on Christmas day. But she stopped me, she – she seems to suffer from some ill-conceived Gryffindor notion that there may yet be a way to _'save'_ me. Foolish girl."

The headmistress stared at him, aghast. "You promised Hermione _on Christmas_ _day_ that you would not to order her to kill you _yet_?"

"Yes, that's what I said, didn't I?" He glared at her.

"What happened to change your mind?" Minerva's voice was shaking, but he barely noticed that.

He picked up his glass again. For a moment he stared at the amber liquid. Then he thought, _What the hell?_ And downed the Ardbeg in one gulp.

"I kissed her."

**oooOooo **

"Ha– Ha– Harry!" Hermione took one look at him and flung herself into his arms, sobbing desperately.

Awkwardly he patted his friend's back. "Hermione, what's wrong? What happened?"

"The plan, _The Plan_, it, it has fai– failed. I – I – failed."

He hugged her close, then pulled her back into the dark corridor beyond the dungeons and into her room. Once inside, he led his friend to her bed and sat down next to her, his arms around her. Hermione cried in great heaving sobs, as if her heart was shattered, and her tears the broken shards.

"Hermione, calm down. _Please._ Or I will have to Floo Madam Pomfrey. What happened?"

"I – he – I – He kissed me."

"Did he hurt you?" There was no question who _'he'_ was.

"Harry," she gasped, trying to suppress another sob and failing miserably. "I am so stupid. I am so horribly, horribly stupid."

"Hermione, if you don't tell me what happened right now, I will call Minerva!"

Hermione buried her face at his shoulder. _"Iwuvim." _

"You what?"

She lifted her face. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, her lips trembled badly.

"I love him," she repeated.

"You what?!"

Harry bit down on his tongue, hard. Then he counted to ten. Then to twenty. _Then_ he took a deep breath.

"But … Hermione, please don't take this wrong, but … I admit this is quite a surprising … development … However … as far as _The Plan_ is concerned, what is so bad about … _uh_ … being in … _uh_ … love with him? Especially if he – if he _kissed_ you?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the first part of the quote "Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do — but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it." by Albert Einstein. The second part of the quote will soon show up in another chapter title.

I don't know if Fibonacci was a wizard. He might have been. Anyway, I do think Snape appreciates math and arithmancy, so he would know about that sort of thing.


	55. To Live Before You Die

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**To Live Before You Die **

**(Sunday night at Hogwarts in the dungeons) **

Hermione couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept for two days, and she still couldn't sleep. At last she gave up. Pulling on her apprentice robes, she blindly grabbed a book from the shelf and picked up her wand.With a whispered _Lumos _she slipped out of her room. She preferred to read in the library. Somehow the presence of many old books made the company of the thoughts that kept her awake at night easier to bear.

But when she opened the door, she found the room already occupied. A fire was burning, and floating candles provided a warm, comfortable reading light. Severus was seated in one of the armchairs, a book in his hands and a mug on the small table next to him.

He raised his head. Their eyes met. _So dark._ Her skin tingled and her stomach tightened with longing. At the same time a horrible feeling squeezed her insides together, almost like Devil's Snare. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry, sir – I didn't want to disturb you." She made to draw back, but he held up his hand.

"There's no need for you to leave, He–" He shook his head a little. "Miss Granger."

She swallowed dryly and stepped into the room, noiselessly closing the door behind her. Fixing her gaze on the door handle, she gathered all her Gryffindor courage.  
"I wouldn't mind if you were to call me Hermione, sir."

For a moment he was silent. Then she heard his familiar sigh. It didn't sound exasperated or contemptuous anymore. Merely tired.  
"I don't think that would be a very good idea, Miss Granger. – Now, if you want to sit down and read, feel free to do so. Otherwise, you are equally free to leave."

She gripped the book so hard that her knuckles stood out whitely. But she ignored the hot flush suffusing her cheeks, and moved to the other armchair. Somehow she managed to curl up in her chair. Somehow she was able to open her book.

She began to leaf through the pages.

**oooOooo **

And the magic that lives in words and rhymes took pity on her.

**oooOooo **

Snape watched her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help himself. He wasn't surprised when she stayed. After more than twenty years of practice, he recognised Gryffindor courage when he saw it.

Curled up in the chair, her feet tugged underneath her, she reminded him of a cat, so limber her movements were almost liquid. His potions had kept the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_ at bay throughout the winter, and now the days were lengthening again. The way she leafed through her book – also like a cat, like the restless movements of an agitated cat's tail. And not at all like her usual reading habits.

"What are you reading?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "If you don't mind my question, Miss Granger," he added.

She looked up and smiled at him, but it wasn't a happy smile. Her brown eyes were huge in her pale face. In the firelight they glowed with the colour of sherry, rich and warm.

"Not at all," Hermione said. "It's a book that belonged to my mother. Muggle poetry. By an American woman-poet of the 20th century. Edna St. Vincent Millay."

She inhaled deeply, frowning at the book resting on the soft curves of her thigh. "I normally don't read poetry. But my mother loved these poems very much. I guess I was trying to learn what my mother found in them."

"And have you discovered what you were looking for?"

"I am not sure. I have neither very much experience with reading poetry nor with most of the subjects the poems deal with."

"What are they about?"

"Many are about love. Others about a variety of topics – gardens, mythology, religion. A fair number are about death." Her expression grew bleak. "I know about that, at least."

For a long moment he stared at the fire. Then, as if from far away, he heard his voice answer her, "As do we all, who have survived that _final_ battle." The practice of the press to call the battle at Hogwarts the _"final"_ battle still irritated him. If only it had been. "Is there one you like?" he asked.

"What?"

"A poem. Is there one you – is there one that speaks to you?"

She thought about his question. At last she nodded. "I am not sure if I understand it, but … I thought I could … maybe … feel like it somehow."

"Will you read it to me?"

**oooOooo **

"What are you reading, sir?"

He blinked, slowly pulling himself out of his reverie about that long-dead Muggle-woman's words. Snape smirked at Hermione, as he held up the book he had put aside while he was listening to her.

"The Lord of the Rings?" Hermione laughed softly. "I'm sorry, sir."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You may not believe it, but I've read it before. As a boy, long ago – one of my Muggle relatives gave it to me for Christmas."

"Why are you reading it again now?"

He gave her a wry smile. "For two reasons. Maybe three. One, for some reason I did not desire to read about Dark Lords in my spare time during the last twenty years. Two, if my Slytherins are getting into trouble because of a book, I should at least be familiar with the story. Three … it's not all that bad, for Muggle mythology.

"And I think Tolkien was right, at least partly. There _are_ wounds that cannot be healed. And after some experiences you cannot ever be whole again."

"But what about Sam?" she asked at once.

He looked at her in silence. Her bright young face, filled with fierce hope and something he couldn't quite pinpoint. And for a moment, for a very short moment, he wondered what it would feel like to be able to share that hope.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **Normally Hermione doesn't read poetry. I think the way she grew up would make the experience of poetry, which really hinges on allowing yourself to feel and experience the emotions conveyed in a poem, quite uncomfortable for her. She grabbed the first book on her shelf, which turned out to be one of her mother's she'd filched as a keep-sake before sending her parents off to Australia.

Which poem did she read to Snape? I'm not really sure. I think it would be one about death and life, which is the topic first and foremost on Hermione's mind at the moment. I also feel that it would be something pretty "straightforward", as she has no experience with poetry and likely not much mind for too much in the ways of frills or drama.

Feel free to think of your own favourite poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. And if you don't have one yet, I invite you to Google her and discover one. You can do so by googling "Small Hands, Relinquish All" (including the quotationmarks, click on the third link from the top; it should be Edna St).

"The mind, at length bereft  
Of thinking, and its pain,  
Will soon disperse again,  
And nothing will remain:  
No, not a thought be left.

Exhort the closing eye,  
Urge the resisting ear,  
To say, "The thrush is here",  
To say, "His song is clear";  
To live, before it die."


	56. With A Little Help From Your Friends …

**With A Little Help From Your Friends … **

**(Sunday evening at Hogwarts, office of the Headmistress) **

"In other words, they're behaving like idiots," Harry stated bluntly.

"That is a concise and accurate description," Minerva commended him. "Young man, I must say the Auror training seems to agree with you."

Harry snorted.

"Hermione says she loves him. I believe she knows her mind. And you think that he is feeling bad about asking her to kill him and about kissing her because _he_ loves her, too," Harry continued. "Are you sure about that? I mean, he _ought _to feel bad about even _thinking_ of ordering her to do that. But why feel bad about kissing her? Not that I ever wanted to kiss Hermione, but even I can see that she is kind of pretty, in a hairy sort of way."

Minerva choked on her whisky. "Yes, Harry," she wheezed. "I am _quite_ sure about that. And _you_ should be very grateful that Ginevra Weasley is such a tolerant, practical girl. Very grateful."

To her surprise, Harry laughed.  
"I am," he said simply. "Every day of my life. Those two –" he rolled his eyes, "– that's too complicated for me. There's more than one reason why I didn't end up a Slytherin.  
"Now, what are we going to do about those two idiots down in the dungeons?"

**oooOooo **

"… therefore I think it's best if you accompany her," McGonagall concluded.

"You want me to do what?" His voice, all but healed, cracked under the pressure of disbelief.

Patiently, as if she were talking to a three-year-old, Minerva repeated, "Hermione, Harry and their friends are planning to attend a concert in London on Friday night. Muggle music. You might even know the artist. _'Sting'_ or something like that." The headmistress sniffed contemplatively. "Muggles have really no better taste than wizards in their stage names. _'Weird Sisters'_, _'Stings'_ … birds of a feather.  
"Given the current situation, I believe that Hermione should not go on her own."

"But she won't be on her own! Neville, Weasley, Potter – he's a damn Auror-in-training, Minerva! They're adults now, the lot of them. Surely they are capable of going to a rock concert without a babysitter!"

The headmistress fixed him with a piercing look. "Neville isn't going. He's busy in the greenhouses. And while Harry may be an Auror-in-training, the others are not. Watch-wizards would attract too much attention. Can you imagine any of the other Order members at … what did you call it? A stoned concert?"

"Not _'stoned'_," he muttered, "though I might as well get some … _'rock'_, Minerva. That particular style of music is called _'rock'_." He frowned. "Though I do believe his latest album is rather on the softer side."

"Album?" Minerva shook her head bemusedly. "Well, it seems you are well-acquainted with that aspect of Muggle culture, Severus. I'm sure it won't be too arduous. Who knows, you might even enjoy it."

**oooOooo **

The Muggle clothing was a shock. The tight jeans and tighter t-shirt left almost nothing to his imagination.  
_She was beautiful._  
And too thin. Fragile. Suddenly he recalled an almost banished glimpse of white skin, soft curves. The taste of her lips.  
... the painfilled darkness in her eyes hit him like a slap in the face.

"You're going to a concert, not to a funeral, Miss Granger," he sneered. "Or would you rather stay here tonight, after all?"

**oooOooo **

Of course he'd wear black. She hadn't expected anything else.

But the way the tight leather trousers hugged his legs and his long black dress-shirt swirled around him made her stomach tingle and tighten …

"I'm sorry, sir. Ready when you are."

**oooOooo **

It was hard to let her go.

_What the hell was wrong with him? _

**oooOooo **

She wanted to cling to him.

Instead Hermione turned and glanced around for the others. A crack sounded and out of thin air, a blonde young woman appeared, wrapped around a dark-haired wizard.

"Hey, Hermione!" Disentangling herself from the embrace, a poncho-clad Luna Lovegood meandered over to give her a quick hug. Luna's necklace of bottle caps had been exchanged for one with exotic shells. Apart from that the witch appeared unchanged. The wizard at her side sported a poncho, too, green and black chevrons as opposed to Luna's blue and silver swirls. "This is Rolf. We work together in Peru. Hello, professor!"

Snape scowled, but nodded. "Lovegood. Scamander."

"Professor Snape! That – that –"

"Oh, Rolf – did I forget to tell you? Hermione's his apprentice."

"Of course you forgot, Luna. – It's good to see you again, sir."

"Here they are!" Harry's voice filtered through the bushes that surrounded the secluded public Apparition spot in Hyde Park. Ginny at his side, he shoved through the scrubs. He met Hermione's eyes with a concerned look. Her tremulous attempt at a smile prompted Harry to look at Snape. His expression hardened, but he merely gave the Potions Master a curt nod, before greeting the others.

"Hello Luna. Rolf, great you could get away. – George, Lee and Draco are going to meet us there. Ron and Lois should be here any minute."

"Draco?"

Harry turned back to Snape, his green eyes glittering. "Yes, Draco. Draco Malfoy. I'm sure you remember him?"

"Harry," Ginny put her hand on his arm. "Stop it. And look, I think that's Ron and Lois getting lost in the bushes. – Hey, Ron! We're over here."

Moments later, Ron broke through the underwood. "Blimey, do they _want _people to get lost in this damn jungle?" He grinned happily at his friends. "Oi, 'mione! Hey, Looney. Rolf, old man." His smile faltered. "_Uh …_ Hello, sir."

Lois, on the other hand, simply went straight to Professor Snape and offered her hand. "Thank you for accompanying Hermione, Severus. I must say, you look great in Muggle clothes. Doesn't he, Hermione? Almost like a musician himself, all dark and dangerous."

Lois winked at Hermione.

But Hermione was staring at Severus, frozen, unable to speak.

After a moment of awkward silence, Lois reached for Hermione's arm. "Well, guys, let's get going before the concert is over!"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** There really was a concert by Sting on April 1, 2000 in the Royal Albert Hall. If wizards or witches attended I'm not in a position to say, as they would have been wearing Muggle clothes and used 'Do-Not-Notice' Charms to hide their presence.


	57. Gravitation

**Gravitation **

_"Who knows, you might even enjoy it." _Just remembering Minerva's words made him scowl at the young witches and wizards walking ahead of him towards the Royal Albert Hall.

George Weasley had kept a place in the queue for their friends. Unfortunately this awkward Muggle procedure couldn't be eased with magic. They needed to get inside the ordinary way.

"Hey, ickle Ronnie," George teased his brother. "Who'd dress you up? You look like a _Mu–_ like a monster."

Lois grinned smugly. "At least your brother knows when to listen to a woman."

"When did he learn that?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Draco greeted him politely, "Good evening, sir."

"Hello, Professor Snape." George Weasley gave a respectful nod.

"Sir." Lee Jordan attempted a polite smile.

Snape frowned. Were they trying to taunt him? But no – their eyes showed only a kind of distant politeness mixed with slight apprehension.

_When had they grown up? _

**oooOooo **

Once inside, Snape narrowed his eyes at the scrap of paper in his hand. Cautiously he moved along the rows of seats, intent on finding the appropriate row. A noise like a dying lawn-mower, which was _probably_ supposed to be a well-mannered cough stopped him.

He turned and glared at Potter. "What's the matter?"

Potter gulped quite gratifyingly. "_Uh …_ just that we're not going to sit down … sir."

Snape scowled. "Why not, Potter? If I am not mistaken, these silly slips of paper indicate we paid good money for those seats."

He did a few mental calculations, and his frown deepened. _Merlin. _He had paid _24 Galleons, 10 Sickles and 5 Knuts_ in order to accompany his apprentice to a Muggle rock concert?!

"Well," Harry said. The young man's smirk definitely needed practice. "That's what _'Don't Notice Me'_ Charms are there for, aren't they? And besides, after the first three songs no one in the arena will stay seated anyway. Don't worry, Professor. No one will realise that we're there."

Lois smiled at him reassuringly. "It will be a lot of fun, trust me. Just don't try to shout. A bit of judicious singing or humming, however, might do your voice a world of good. Remember that silly exercise?"

_Why were they treating him as if … _

He shook his head. He did not belong with them. He was only here because Minerva had forced him to. She really wasn't any better than Albus.

_Except,_ he thought, _he rather preferred her honest, piercing gaze. _

**oooOooo **

Potter had been right. After the first two songs, people jumped from their seats, churned into the aisles, pressed towards the stage.

The music was good. Even better than the reviews had promised. The voice of the singer was mellow, slightly hoarse, unrefined and intense all at once. The Muggle version of an amplification spell enhanced the volume of the music to the point that it was almost too loud. But it caused the beat to pulse in his blood.

The next song started. The rhythm throbbed in the people around him. A wave of movement pushed him forwards, until he was suddenly drowning in a cloud of curls.

A flowery scent drifted up to him, ensnaring his sense._ Hibiscus and honey?_

Then he was pressed against Hermione. She swayed against him. The curves of her body bewitched his mind. His breath caught in his throat, and he grew uncomfortably aware of the thudding of his own heart, out of sync with the rhythm that had gripped the revellers around him.

He tried to keep his attention on the stage, on the blond man gyrating with his guitar and smiling as he sang.

As from afar, the words reached his ears and crept into his heart like a spell of longing. A deep ache built up inside his chest, an almost unbearable thirst that matched the desert mentioned in the current song. The feeling intensified whenever the young witch in front of him moved against him.

He couldn't get her smile out of his head. She had smiled at him when he'd woken in St. Mungo's and when he'd accepted her as his apprentice. And the other night, when they had talked in the library; but that was a sad smile. She didn't smile very often anymore, he realised. He wished he could forget the agony in her eyes as she'd looked at him only a week ago.

Again she was pressed against. Again he was pushed forwards. It wouldn't do to stumble, he tried to step back, raised his hands –  
But again the masses around him surged forwards, pulled at him, a sea of bodies, the melodies of Muggle music their tide.

He lost his footing. Clumsily his hands reached out, searching for something to hold on to.

_Oh Gods, she felt good in his arms. _

For a moment she stiffened. Then Hermione relaxed against him, leant against him even, as if she were pulled back to his body by an inexorable force. Instinctively, his hands slipped around her waist.

Lost to the gravitational forces of rhythm and melody, they moved together.

**oooOooo **

The music washed over her like waves on the shore. She didn't hear the words. She barely noticed the singer on the stage.

What she _did _notice was the man behind her.

Even in the crowd of concert-goers, she could still taste his scent. And when the masses surged towards the stage, she could sense him as well. He was pushed against her: the warmth of his body, the tense muscles, the unexpected strength of his lean figure.

Another wave of bodies flowed against them. She felt him falter, his breath against her neck.

Suddenly, his hands on her body.

Curling around her sides, sliding around her waist, drawing her against him, closer, closer, until she could feel him pressed against her. Her heart pounding, her breath ragged, she closed her eyes and leant back against him.

The music and his embrace enfolded her, his personal fragrance (vetyver, cypress, bergamot, rosemary, nutmeg … _ahhh_ …) went straight to her head.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The title of this chapter refers again to the quote _"Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do — but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it."_ from Albert Einstein. Gravitation may not be responsible for the not at all stupid action of falling in love. However, certain kinds of gravitational forces _may_ speed things along.

The conversion of Muggle money into Galleons & co is care of the Currency Converter at the HP Lexicon.

A link to a live version of the song that gets to Snape as well as to the song lyrics may be found in my forums. You can find the link there at the top of my profile page.


	58. … and a Little Assistance From Your Foes

**… and a Little Assistance From Your Foes **

"I'll be right with you," she called, "Just need to use the loo."

"Sure, 'mione." Ron raised the hand that was not holding onto Lois. "Don't get lost with all those Muggles everywhere. Or we'll come looking for you."

Severus' scowl was impressive, but all it did was cause Hermione's stomach to flutter. She shivered, recalling the touch of his hands on her hips, and decisively turned around. They needed to get to the Apparition point before midnight when Hyde Park was closed.

The crowd swept her away.

_His body behind her … his hands at her sides … the one time when the sides of his thumbs had brushed against her breasts … and the shocking realisation that he was quite unmistakably aroused by their proximity … as he pressed against her back … _

Hermione shuddered, gasped for breath – and blinked. Distracted by desire, she'd completely lost her bearings. Around her, the crowd was thinning out quickly, as Muggles hurried to tube stations and parking lots. The night was very dark, and somehow the electrical lights were not as bright as she remembered them. Oppressive shadows of tall buildings loomed around her. Suddenly she felt distinctly uncomfortable. As if someone was watching her.

She needed to get back to the hall. The pressure of her bladder was quite uncomfortable now. Mentally shaking her head at herself, she turned around.

_Head in the clouds … daft idiot … keeping the others waiting because you get lost in dreams … in the middle of the night in London of all places … _

Rough voices slurred with drink got her attention. She frowned. Where had all the people disappeared to? She really didn't want to encounter a group of drunkards on her own. Nervously she felt for her wands, securely stashed away in holsters sewn to the sides of her jeans. But they wouldn't help her. Not against inebriated Muggles. Self-defence was one thing. Awkward situations of everyday life a completely different matter. Getting away from some sots wasn't a reason to hex Muggles. Nervously she bit down on her lower lip.

"Look what I found!"

_Oh no. They'd seen her. _

"A GAL."

"Whaddas aluvvely younglady alone here atnight?"

_Urgh._ There were five of them, and they were approaching quickly.

"Ah you lonely, dahlin'?"

He was tall and heavy, beer gut drooping over sleazy jeans.

"Lookin' for company?"

She caught a hint of a cruel smile in the dim beam of the street-lamp.

_Just a few drunks. Nothing to worry about. Just keep your head down and keep going. You're just a few hundred yards from the RAH. Just a few more from your friends. _

"Looks like it, she's all flushed up." Raucous laughter roared up.

"Hey, chucky, why won't you talk to us?"

She quickened her pace. She'd almost reached the hall. Surely there would be more people around in a second.

"Don't run away, we only want to talk."

She ducked and hurried on, uncomfortably aware that they were coming closer. She could _smell _the drink on them. Her stomach constricted with fear.

"Will you look at that tart? No manners at all."

"Needs to be taught."

Suddenly one of them stepped in front of her, bringing her up short, while the other four closed in on her from the sides and from behind.

_Oh God.  
I'm in trouble. Really bad trouble. _

Her heart was racing. Her whole body was shaking with terror. Now was the time to pull the wands. Her trembling hands slid down to her holsters.

But the men were faster.

**oooOooo **

Hermione struck out wildly. Panic constricted her throat. _Scream. You need to scream. _Hard hands pulled at her hair. Iron fists held her arms. Someone reached for her legs. Nails scratched her skin as they fumbled for her jeans.

Suddenly she could scream.

She screamed as she had only once before.

Startled, they dropped her. Her head struck the edge of the kerbstone. For a moment the world went fuzzy around the edges. Then a boot kicked her side, and the pain cleared the haze before her eyes. Another foot came down on her left wrist, pinning her to the ground. She could hear the bones break with a horrible crunch. A wave of sickness uncurled so quickly from her stomach that all she could do was open her mouth and vomit right at the man kneeling over her. He recoiled, and that was when Hermione saw the sixth man.

The man was standing behind her attackers, in the shadow beyond the street-lamp. He was dressed in robes. He had lifted one arm, a thin stick of wood grasped in his hand, pointed at her. His sleeve had slipped back, revealing his forearm.

On the pale skin the lines of a tattoo burned with black fire.

Hermione screamed and screamed and screamed, but her shrieks were fading from her ears as if she were moving away from her body. Darkness was gathering around her field of vision.

Then everything went black.

**oooOooo **

Snape's head shot up as the Bond called upon him. The blood drained from his head as the chill of shock washed through his veins.

_Hermione was in danger. _

"What's wrong?" Potter's voice cut through the fog of fear rolling towards him from his apprentice.

"Hermione – She's being attacked."

_Pain and panic flooded him._ He balled his fists, concentrating hard. _Helpless struggling._ He needed to find her. _Nails shredding skin, a choking grip._ He needed to trace her feelings back to their source. _Screams that cut through heart and mind. _He needed to Apparate to her at once. _Agony. Sudden nausea._ He needed to know where she was.

There! A sense of a location. A dark street corner behind the hall. How in hell had she ended up there?

Potter frowned. "How do you know? How do we get to her?"

"She's my apprentice. I'm Bound to protect her. Get your wand out and hold on – Side-along Apparition."

_TERROR! Mindless, all-consuming terror.  
And then: nothing. _

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The Bond is the bond between master and apprentice. The master is sworn to protect the apprentice, so he/she needs to know when the apprentice is in trouble. In a less powerful wizard, that would be an indistinct feeling of worry/alarm. Snape gets details because he's powerful, an excellent Legilimens and in love with Hermione. And a good thing that is, too.

Now it's time for some serious thank-you's, in alphabetical order. Thank you for your help, your ideas, for listening and for cheering me up and being so understanding about how this plot bunny is eating up my mind: Aranel Took (the bestest friend a woman can have), Leany (awesome friend and know-it-all for all kinds of details, no matter if it's about HP or anything else), Marta (always willing to read snippets and listening to me rant), whitehound (thank you for reading, for your insightful comments, for catching all those typos and for britpicking for a clueless German!), Zeegrindylows (I LOVE that we're tackling the same genre and timeline at the same time - "meeting" you has been one of the best parts about writing this story! Thank you for listening, cheering me up and inspiring me.)

For the concert chapters I also owe thanks to the people at the WIKTT Yahoo Group and at the LiveJournal Community Little Details.


	59. Legilimens!

**Legilimens! **

Idiot girl. What had she been thinking? _Had_ she been thinking at all?

Snape stood at the foot of her bed in the hospital wing and stared down at her still figure.

So fragile. Too thin. She didn't eat enough. Those dark smudges underneath her eyes – they were not due to the attack. He couldn't remember when he'd seen her without them. Did she ever get a good night's sleep? And the lines on her face. There shouldn't be any. Hermione was only twenty years old. _There shouldn't be any lines._ But there were. Faint, at the bridge of her nose, on her forehead.

And _oh God_, her injuries. Her broken jaw was healed, of course. But even with salves and magic it would take days until the contusions and bruises receded. Right now her mouth was barely visible, swollen and discoloured. The healed wrist was still wrapped in thick bandages, to give bones, muscles and tendons a chance to recuperate.

He sat down.

"Miss Granger," he said. " You have been asleep for two days. It is time for you to wake up."

Snape didn't expect her to listen to him. She hadn't reacted to Harry's voice or Ron's. Not to Minerva's nor Molly's or Lois'. He had failed her. He had failed her as her master. He had failed her on account of the life-debts he owed her. And DAMN IT ALL TO HELL, he had failed her as the one whose arms had embraced her last.

"Miss Granger," he repeated. "You are safe. Please, wake up. We need to know what happened. Please. – _Hermione._"

Snape didn't expect her to react. If he had believed in prayer, he would have prayed, begging not to turn Hermione into his bitterest failure. But as he was the man he was, he did nothing of the sort.

She woke all the same.

With a high, keening noise of pain and fear, she tried to clutch at him, but failed, weakened by her injuries.

"Miss Granger? Can you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying? You are safe. You don't need to be afraid. You are at Hogwarts. Nothing can happen to you here."

But he knew, just as she knew, that not even Hogwarts was safe. It hadn't been before. There were no safe places left in the world, even with Voldemort dead and gone.

Brown eyes glittered huge and panicked in her pale face. But she nodded slightly.

_Gryffindor all the way. _

"We need to know what happened."

It was cruel to ask this of her. But he had no choice. Either _he _got the information out of her, or an Auror, or worse, an Unspeakable would do the job.

"Your jaw was broken. That is the reason why you cannot speak. Don't try. It will take a few days until the swelling goes down.

"I am very sorry to ask this of you now, but it is necessary. The Aurors need to know what happened, even if you cannot speak. You have two options. Either I can extract your memories and put them into a pensieve, or I can perform Legilimency"

For a moment she lay utterly still.

She should be allowed to sleep. To heal. It was not right to question her now. Whatever traces were left, were probably covered up already. But the Ministry was impatient.

Hermione widened her eyes at him. He frowned. What did she want to convey to him?

She lifted her right hand. Her hand trembled, but she managed to move it. She touched her fingertips just below her eyes.

_Legilimency.  
Foolish, foolish girl. _

"Are you sure, Hermione?

_"Legilimens!" _

**oooOooo **

Fury surged through him at the attack. Five grown men turning on one young woman!

_What kind of world was this? _

Each blow struck him along with her, her pain and panic became a part of him.

_He should have been there to protect her. _

Then he was lying on the ground with her and looking up into the dim light of the street-lamp. And saw the sixth man, wand pointed, the Dark Mark burning black on white skin.

**oooOooo **

Snape had seen enough. As gently as he could, he began to draw back – and found himself pulled deeper into Hermione's mind instead.

She _was_ the brightest witch of her generation; mentally she was a power to be reckoned with. Hermione was too weak to reach for him physically. So she clung to him with the most desperate strength of her mind.

If he did not want to hurt her by forcibly withdrawing from her mind, he had no choice.

He allowed himself to be pulled into her mental embrace. Her mind-touch was delicate – like her body – but strong as steel underneath, quite unlike her physical form; with a hint of a scent (lemon verbena?). Snape concentrated on the idea of safety and security, hoping that she would eventually relax sufficiently to let him go.

**oooOooo **

_Breathe in._

He tasted the fragrance of his shower soap and his after-shave lotion. Why did the scent of vetyver mixed with herbs make her heart beat faster?

_Breathe out. _

He remembered holding her, just as she recalled being held. She associated the first feelings of warmth, safety and contentment in months with _him_? Had this been a conversation, he would have laughed. But an untrained mind like hers could not lie to him.

_Breathe in. _

It was disconcerting to see himself with her eyes, and to observe himself as he slept. Snape was – just like Hermione – well aware of the imperfections of his appearance (hair lank from years of exposure to cauldron-fumes, skin sallow from bad eating and sleeping habits, face lined, teeth crooked). But for some reason his looks did not only not bother the young witch, she found them appealing. He gave a mental frown. How could anyone in their right mind be obsessed with the form of his hands, the darkness of his eyes? _Love_ his beak of a nose?

_Breathe out. _

… love?

**oooOooo**


	60. All the Harebrained and Idiotic Things

**Of All the Hare-brained and Idiotic Things **

_… love? _

But there it was.

The strangest feeling of complete acceptance.

Of respect. Admiration. For his cunning mind, his magnificent skills. For his courage and integrity? Had she developed _amnesia_? He'd been a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. He was a murderer. He had killed a man she adored and liked!

Appreciation. For his wry wit and caustic humour. For the way he was bold enough to express his anger and frustration, when she always ended up biting her tongue. Was the woman _crazy_? Jumping in the face of people who only wanted to help you was _not_ a good trait of character!

Concern. There was almost nothing about him that she wasn't concerned about. Did he eat enough? Sleep enough? Did his injury still cause him pain?

Happiness at a fleeting smile.

Exasperation. _He _was being stubborn? Wasn't that the pot calling the kettle 'black'?

Tenderness. How in _hell_ could she look at him as if he were some kind of precious miracle?

And underneath it all the calm conviction that he would never reciprocate any of these sentiments. That she wasn't deserving of his respect, either for her skills as his apprentice or as a person.

_But – _

Her thoughts flashed back to the kiss, and he was sucked into a vortex of turmoil. Embroiled by raging desire, his mind was assaulted by two-fold echoes of sensations of such intensity that he gasped aloud. Need. Desire. _Lust. _

Then his heart was breaking.

The cliché did not do the experience justice. An overwhelming feeling of despair, a mind-numbing experience of helplessness, of defeat, resulting from her inability to make his life better, worth living. Followed by quiet acceptance. If she couldn't save his life, she would at least provide him with a gentle death. He deserved so much more, but if that was all he would accept from her, if that was truly what he needed, then she would give it to him. Even though she would much rather give her heart to him, her love, her life.

**oooOooo **

Then she was in Potter's arms – of course, that boy and all he stood for _had_ to be present to torture him even here in Hermione's mind – crying and shaking.

_"I love him." _

_"You what?!" _

_"But – Hermione, please don't take this wrong, but – I admit this is quite a surprising development – However, as far as The Plan is concerned, what is so bad about being in love with him? Especially if he – if he kissed you?" _

The Plan?

Suddenly he was in the garden of the Burrow, looking at Luna Lovegood's serene smile.

_"Simple," the eccentric Ravenclaw was saying in her most infuriatingly patient tone . "We have to find him a wife." _

**oooOooo **

A sense of apprehension, and again that feeling of quiet, unquestioning acceptance, as he heard and felt the memory of Hermione's voice: _"It's quite simple, really. I have to go and pretend that I want to marry him. Then they will have to do their tests and give me the results. … no one will doubt me. … They already think I'm completely barmy, it can't get any worse." _

**oooOooo **

She hadn't even thought twice? She had simply, without hesitation, given up a comfortable future with the Weasley boy and her career of choice with the Ministry?

… just because she respected and admired him as a teacher, as an Order member and as a – as a fellow human being? Because he _deserved_ a life?

**oooOooo **

OF ALL THE HARE-BRAINED AND IDIOTIC THINGS THIS PLAN MUST BE THE MOST … absurd, fantastic, bizarre, ludicrous, preposterous, outrageous, quixotic, impracticable, misguided, ridiculous … he was running out of adjectives … endeavour he had EVER encountered in his whole life.

… and MINERVA was in on the plan?

… how positively …

… _Slytherin_.

**oooOooo **

Suddenly he was back at the evening of the concert, and Hermione was being swept along with the crowd after the show. She had intended only a quick trip to the loo. But with her mind in turmoil, her feelings in an uproar, her body burning for him (for _him_??) … the young witch had been so distracted by the effects his embrace had on her (Oh Merlin, _his_ embrace!) that she never noticed the insidious mind-touch that slipped past the natural barriers of her mind. A vile and subtle lure that had increased her confusion and steered her steps away from the crowd and down a dark alley, until no one would hear her screams in time …

**oooOooo **

Only then Hermione released him.

Snape slid out of her mind and came to sitting next to Hermione's bed, holding her hand and shaking all over.

_She loved him. _

He stared into her brown eyes. Hermione looked very weary, wrung-out, but also incredibly relieved.

Keeping such a … Slytherin … plan secret would have been hard on her, honest Gryffindor that she was. Foolish, foolish girl.

_Woman. _

She had given up on the future she had envisioned for herself because she was convinced that _he_ deserved a life. Foolish, _foolish_ woman.

_She loved him. _

She had been prepared to do everything for him. _Literally_ everything. Never mind the consequences. How typically, annoyingly Gryffindor of her.

_She loved him. _

She liked his _goddamn_ nose.

_She wanted him. _

She wanted him so much that whenever he merely _looked _at her, her stomach tightened with need.

_She needed him. _

His (his!) embrace made her feel safe. Safe and secure. Warm and happy. At peace with herself and the world.

_Foolish, _foolish_ woman. _

**oooOooo **

Snape exhaled deeply. Hermione lay in her bed, staring up at him. His black eyes blazed. She was glad that she was no Legilimens. His mind was bound to be a very scary place now. She should probably be frightened out of her wits, since he had discovered not only her … inappropriate feelings for him, but also The Plan.

But all she could feel was boundless, grateful relief.

Her hand still in his, her lids fluttered shut and Hermione fell asleep.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	61. The Breaking of the Shell

**The Breaking of the Shell **

Snape still felt quite unbalanced when he entered Minerva's office almost two hours later, a carefully prepared pensieve in his hands.

It had taken him longer than normally to create the memory of the attack. Partly this was due to the fact that second-hand memories were always more fuzzy than original ones, but the main problem had simply been an inability to concentrate on his part, an unusual difficulty concerning the separation of facts and emotions.

What he held in his hands now was as objective and purified a version of the events has he was able to produce. He hadn't been able to contain the malicious mind-touch without revealing other things, however. He would have to simply _tell_ Minerva – and, he supposed, Potter, about this. And hope that it would be enough.

"Headmistress. Mr. Weasley. Mr. – Williamson." He sighed. "Potter."

He put the pensieve on the table and sat down next to the young Auror.

"Professor Snape." Potter nodded to him. "How is Hermione?"

"She was asleep when I left her. Madam Pomfrey is with her, of course," Snape replied tersely.

"Will she be all right? Molly is very worried. Hermione is like a daughter to us –" Arthur leant over, oblivious of the pensieve. Snape only prevented the red-haired wizard from knocking it over by grabbing the bowl and pushing it into Minerva's hands.

His hand snaked up to his throbbing forehead. "She will be fine in a few days. We were in time to … to prevent …" To keep her from being raped and killed. _Oh Gods._ "He– Miss Granger suffered a broken jaw, a fracture of her left wrist, plus numerous lacerations and contusions, and a mild concussion. She was healed, of course, but it takes time to recuperate from such injuries.

"But she _will_ recover completely."

Arthur sighed. "That's a relief."

Williamson picked that moment to join the conversation. In spite of purple robe and ponytail, the sharp gaze and self-assured demeanour of the young wizard made clear at a glance that he was not an Auror by chance. "I've been over the incident with Mr. Potter. Is there anything you can add, now that you've retrieved the relevant memories from Miss Granger?"

_She loves me. She wanted to save my life, and she loves me. _

Snape cleared his throat, forgetting the procedure instilled in him by Petrel. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarser than it had in weeks. "As Mr. Potter no doubt told you, upon our arrival at the scene we happened upon five Muggles who were under the _Imperius_ curse, and a wizard of unknown identity who cast an _'In Cinere Muto'_ on himself, thus incinerating himself on the spot.

"But yes, there is more.

"The wizard who killed himself bore the Dark Mark. And Miss Granger got a good look at it. It was active when she saw it. Burning black on white skin.  
"I have also reason to assume that the wizard was an accomplished Legilimens, who manipulated Miss Granger into straying away from the concert hall. To what end, I cannot say. But I do not believe that –" He swallowed. "I do not believe that simply killing her was all that was on his agenda."

**oooOooo **

Later, in the solitude of his bedroom, he could not settle down. Too much was on his mind.

Hermione Granger. The best friend of Harry Potter. Heroine of the War. His apprentice. His perfect, safe solution to end his miserable existence.

Was in love with him.  
_Loved him_, even.

From her bizarre fascination with his nose to her ridiculous notion that in his arms of all places true safety and security might be found.

He paced the room.

_When had his life become so strange?  
And what the hell was he supposed to do now? _

Severus stopped and crossed his arms. He could not deny that he was attracted to Hermione.

The soft, delicate curves of her body. Those wild curls. That brave, infuriating smile ... That inquisitive, stubborn mind. Her calm, consequent caring.

Of love, he knew nothing. He had loved but once in his life, and that had ended with a man he hated marrying the woman he loved, and herself dead at his feet before her son was even two years old ...

Now the Dark Mark was burning again. Why? How? He had no idea. Voldemort was dead. He was certain of that. _This_ Dark Lord was gone. But that didn't mean no other would rise. He sighed. All the signs pointed in that direction.

Severus slumped down on his bed, stared at the wall, his thoughts everywhere and nowhere at once.

_What should he do now? Where should he go from here? _

At last he shook his head and pulled out his main wand. Yew. For transformation and renewal. The core: dragon heartstring – for strength of heart. And his new secondary wand shared the core with Hermione's. Feather of a sphinx for joint wisdom. He felt his lips curl into a wry smile. The irony of the symbolism was not lost on him.

For a moment, he sat in intense concentration. Then he murmured, _"Expecto patronum." _

Silver haze drifted up from his wand, forming the translucent shape of a doe. Quietly, gracefully, she moved around the room, returning to him now and again to nuzzle him with gentle, worried touches of her shimmering nose.

Severus remained where he was, motionless, gazing at the blurred shape of his borrowed Patronus in silence. Thinking about love and life scared him. He was not used to such activities. But Severus knew he had no choice. He had to make a decision.

When the eastern horizon brightened with a new morning, Severus lowered his wand.

_It was time. _

"You cannot protect me any longer," he whispered. "Farewell. –  
"And thank you."

For a moment the silver doe stood in the first golden light of dawn that filtered through the window. Then she seemed to exhale in a sigh.

And was gone.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The title refers to a quote by Kahlil Gibran: 

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain."


	62. Cold Words

**Cold Words **

Two days later, Hermione stiffly sat down on her bed and reached out to pet Crookshanks. Curled up into a fluffy ginger ball, the half-kneazle was shedding in a spectacular contrast on the dark green cover.

"Hey, Crooks," she murmured. "I'm back."

She stared down at her hands, the right lost in thick fur, the left resting in her lap. Covered under the black and green sleeve of her apprentice-robe, her wrist was still blue and green, with splotches of yellow. Her whole body sported a quite amazing array of bruises. Hermione glanced at the jar with bruise balm on her nightstand. It would take a while until her body was completely healed.

Strangely enough, that didn't worry her. Not even the burning Dark Mark she had glimpsed while lying on the ground worried her much. Her shrieking terror had drained away. She wasn't even able to formulate any theories about what was going on in her mind at the moment.

She could think about only one thing.

He knew.  
_Everything. _

Her initial feeling of relief had faded, leaving behind a strange, shocked numbness. From that daze, apprehension had started creeping into her mind. By now her nerves were completely frazzled.

_What would he do? End her apprenticeship? Give his final order? But he kissed me. He embraced me at the concert. It was rather obvious that he liked it, too. _

But if Snape thought that a kiss was not the foundation for a marriage that would save his life, Hermione suspected that an erection would qualify even less.

A soft knock made her jump. The door opened. Snape stood framed by the torchlight of the corridor. As usual, he was dressed in black, trousers, frock coat, with the barest sliver of white indicating the presence of a shirt somewhere underneath the various layers of black fabric. His expression was unreadable.

"Miss Granger. I trust you are feeling better."

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"We need to talk."

"Yes, sir."

He spun on his heel and swept away towards the library. Hermione rose to her feet. Her heart was racing, her stomach was tied in knots of anxiety. Her mouth dry with nervousness, she stepped towards her desk and retrieved a piece of parchment, stuffing it into the deep pocket of her robes, before she followed her master.

_Gryffindor courage,_ she thought desperately. _As if I've got any choice … _

**oooOooo **

Inside the library, Snape had taken up position with his back towards the windows. He stood stiffly, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Close the door, if you will."

She complied. Her heartbeat was thrumming in her throat. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the door handle.Then Hermione turned around to face Snape.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said in his silkiest voice. His black eyes bored into her. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Instinctively, she balled her hands, promptly winced at the aching stiffness of her left wrist and let her hands fall loosely at her sides instead. She inhaled deeply. Drawing her shoulders back and raising her chin, she tried to gather her thoughts.

"There are surely worse things than marrying me," she plunged in. "And I should think that a life-sentence in Azkaban is among them. I know you may disagree with me, but you do deserve to have a life. " _She mustn't cry before she'd spoken three sentences. Damn. Hold yourself together, Hermione._ "Surely – a life – in freedom – even if it is here at Hogwarts and includes teaching all those dunderheads, even if – if it includes … _uh_ … my presence … surely that is preferable to – to the alternative."

Her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe. Her voice sounded thin and shrill in her own ears. "I know that I'm not the apprentice you would have picked. That it will be awkward marrying your apprentice. And I'm very sorry for that. But it seemed the only solution at the time. And it _is _legal. We – we checked that. We – I – thought if – as your apprentice you might – maybe – come to – obviously not to _like_ me. But maybe, maybe not … resent me quite as much as when I was a student. Especially," she gulped, "if I could help you with teaching. Decrease your exposure to dunderheads. Do the boring stuff, so you might have more time for, for something you enjoyed."

His posture had become even stiffer, if that was at all possible. His eyes had started to glitter blackly. A dead give-away for his rising fury.

She inhaled a shuddering breath and pulled the roll of parchment out of her robe.

"I am so very sorry that I betrayed your trust. I know I had no right to do what I did. But there was really no other way. And –" Her voice faltered, her hand was shaking. "At least that way we know that there _is_ a way for you to fulfil those ridiculous conditions of your probation, sir. You don't have to go to Azkaban. Please, sir, if you would just consider it!"

Silently he accepted the parchment. He studied the seal carefully, then he unrolled and read the document.

At last he put the scroll away. He spun around and stalked towards Hermione until he stood a mere inch away from her. His scent enveloped her and made her stomach tingle even now. His black gaze was hypnotising.

"A positively _Slytherin_ scheme, Miss Granger," he hissed at her. "Insinuating yourself into my presence, securing my trust, assisting me with the unpleasant task of subduing those imbecilic children … and all _that_ just to save me from a life-sentence in Azkaban?"

She shivered, but she couldn't move away, or breathe, or speak.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," he enquired, his voice soft as velvet, "with all your mad scheming and preposterous planning, did it not _ever_ occur to you to simply … _ask_ me?"

**oooOooo**


	63. … and Warm Kisses

**… and Warm Kisses **

"Ask you?" Hermione gaped at Snape.

"Yes," he repeated tersely. "_Ask_ me."

"Who knows," he smirked at her. "I might even have said yes."

_"Yes?"_ She stared at him incredulously.

A terrible feeling of hope mixed with fear and dread gripped her heart and squeezed it. Nausea washed over her as she gulped again, and tried to catch her breath.

"Sir," she whispered, unable to quench the giddy feeling of longing that was rising in her heart. In spite of the stiffness and the pain, Hermione balled her hands into fists. If she didn't, she might reach for him, and she was certain that the only thing Snape would appreciate even less than a sobbing apprentice was an apprentice clinging to his robes in an effort of persuasion.

"Sir," Hermione repeated earnestly. "If you'd only consider it! Please! You've read the document, you've seen it's valid. If you marry me, you're safe. You won't have to go to Azkaban. You can live in peace.  
"It would only be a – a – marriage of convenience, a paper marriage, just for show. You would hardly notice that I'm there. I could continue keeping the dunderheads of the lower forms at bay for you. I know I am not the kind of apprentice you deserve, but at least I can do that. I think I cope reasonably well with the younger students by now."

Hermione took a deep breath, and hurried on. She knew she was babbling almost hysterically, but she was too frightened of what he would say to stop now. "I – I suppose I would have to stay with you, just to keep up appearances for the Ministry. But I promise I would, I would keep out of your way. And I would like to say that I do understand that – if – there will never be anything between us. Though of course if you'd consider … if you ever thought that you might – _uh_ …" She blushed fiercely.

"I – well, I guess you know that I – I would actually be … quite pleased. _Uh_ … I do understand that an arithmantic anomaly is not any better a foundation for a marriage than a kiss. But surely it is better than the alternatives. Better than Azkaban. Or –" she swallowed hard, "death.

"And," Hermione went on, "while I'm certainly the first to admit that I don't know much about love or marriage – I _am_ only twenty years old, after all – I do think that – in time – we might be able to establish at least a mutually agreeable companionship, if not exactly friendship. After all, we do share some interests and we have … _uh_ … already spent quite some time well, we're not complete strangers to each other.

"Please, sir," she whispered. "If you'd only consider it. It would be just to keep up appearances. Just for show. And it _would_ save your life."

He didn't react, just looked at her intently. She was trembling under his black gaze. But somehow she managed to keep her chin up and was able to meet his eyes.

"Are you quite finished babbling?" Snape asked.

Hermione tried to swallow the pounding heartbeat that seemed to have lodged in her throat, and nodded. Snape stepped even closer.

"Good." He stared down at her for a long moment with the strangest expression in his eyes.

"However," he said softly, "you are forgetting about something here, Hermione."

With one word all hope, and all the nervous energy that had kept her talking during the last minutes drained out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her head, despair dragging at her.

"Hermione. Look at me." His right hand moved to her chin, gripping it gently between his index finger and his thumb and tilting her head back, so that she was looking into his eyes again. His hand slid down to her shoulder. At the same time he brought up his left, until he was holding her tightly. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to.

"You are forgetting," Severus repeated in a low, careful voice. "that I've been inside your mind.  
"I _know_ how you feel about me."

Something about the way he spoke made a shiver run down her back. She opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a slight shake of his head.

"I do not love you," he said curtly.

Hermione sucked in her breath. Her nails bit into her palms, her left wrist throbbed with pain.

"Or … in any case I don't think I do. At least … not … yet."

Again she caught that hint of sadness in his dark eyes.

"Hermione, young as you are … among the two of us, I think you know far more about love than I do. I find myself most ill equipped when it comes to matters of the heart.  
"You must be aware of the fact that I do feel attracted to you.  
"And no matter what impression I may have given you, I do care about you."

She could feel the warmth of his body against her breasts, right through the various layers of their clothing. She couldn't breathe.

"Very much," Severus whispered. Hermione was drowning in his eyes.

"What –" She faltered and licked her lips. "What are you are you trying to say?"

"What I am trying to say, in an awkward, roundabout way … is that while I still think that this _'plan'_ of yours is the most bizarre scheme I have ever heard of," he said forcefully, before he softened his voice again, "I agree. You _are_ right. Marriage to you is infinitely preferable to the alternatives. Even _I_ am not so insane as to insist that death or Azkaban would be better options.

"Albeit probably more appropriate." Severus sighed wearily. "The answer to your question, Hermione, is _'yes'_."

A tender hand cupped her head, while his arm around her back pulled her against his body, until warm lips closed the last distance between them.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Now I can give you the reference for the title of this and the previous chapter. It's another quote, this time by Utada Hikaru _"I'll give you cold words and warm kisses. This is love."_


	64. Accursed Arithmancy

**Accursed Arithmancy **

Hermione's world narrowed down to the touch of his lips on hers, warm, gentle, insistent, but infuriatingly chaste, to his hand holding her head, his fingers playing in her hair, his hand pressing against the small of her back … When Severus released her at last, she swayed against him, gasping. Her whole body pulsed with desire from her little toes to her ears. He didn't let her go. Instead, both of his hands went around her back, pulling her against his body, while he lowered his head so that it rested against her right cheek. Tension and anxiety fell away. Within the circle of his arms, she could relax, and simply breathe. _Breathe. _

Finally Severus stepped back from her, but his right hand found hers, and pulled her along as he settled in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Seated on the wide, squashy armrest, she leant against him, inhaled his scent, and once again rehearsed the components in her mind. Severus still looked tired and thin, but she couldn't remember having seen him in a better shape. And he _did_ look more relaxed. Less tense.

"Now what?" she asked.

A black eyebrow quirked up. "We go and talk with the Headmistress and arrange for an appointment with the Ministry's Registry Office. I suppose the Magical Law Enforcement Office may have to be consulted as well. And of course those Wizarding Genealogy Offices."

Her heartbeat quickened again. Somehow she'd never anticipated that _The Plan_ would actually work. Only of course it _hadn't_, even if they _were _to be married now after all. Hermione's brain seemed to be trying to tie itself into knots. _How was it possible that her whole world had changed within five minutes? Or ten, maybe. _

"Surely you didn't expect me to play the blushing bridegroom, Hermione?" he sneered softly. But his tone lacked its usual sting, and his hand was soft on her leg, gently rubbing back and forth on her thigh. His other hand strayed to the bridge of his nose, as it so often did, when he was tired or exasperated. "I am definitely not … eager … to … _hell,_ Hermione, there is no good way to say this!" His tone hardened with an edge of desperation. "But even vows exchanged at a Ministry wedding hold more power of protection than the vows between apprentice and master."

His eyes darkened to absolute black, as his fingers carefully caressed her left wrist.

" I am afraid it seems that you will need all the protection you can get," he added in a low voice.

"I'm not exactly helpless," she argued.

"Which is why you _allowed_ yourself to be overpowered by five Muggles controlled by the _Imperius_?"

She sucked in her breath. "They were?"

Severus nodded. "Yes. You were _not_ attacked by chance, Hermione."

"But … but why?"

He shrugged. "Another message? Whoever is behind all this is just establishing himself as the new Dark Lord. They will need death and blood to build up a reputation."

Severus' long fingers wrapped around her hand, his grip both strong and gentle.

"I almost wish there were other rites we could employ …" He moved his shoulders uncomfortably.

Hermione frowned. "Why? What do you mean?"

His eyes glittered with impatience and he drew away from her. Restless, he rose to his feet and paced the room, black robes swirling. "Ancient rituals. Marriage rites."

He gave her a pointed look. "_Fertility_ ceremonies."

When she gulped, he smirked. "However, they all have a distinct drawback. Just like the Unforgivables you have to _mean_ them, with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, when you cast them. As it is, that option is not open to us."

Severus gazed at her, and for a fleeting moment Hermione had the impression that his eyes darkened with regret. But she couldn't be sure as they were almost black to begin with.

"Oh."

"Yes. _'Oh',_ indeed. As a matter of fact …" He pointed at the scroll with the seal from the Wizarding Genealogy Offices.

"… If you weren't so bloody Gryffindor, you would have noticed that this doesn't really look like an arithmantic anomaly, but rather like a botched curse."

Hermione blinked at Snape. "A _botched_ curse?"

She stared at him. That bit of paper had ruled her life for almost a year. She had built her entire future on it. Now Severus was saying that it was only a curse gone wrong?

"Use your brains – Hermione."

She just stared at him.

"Think about it. You are a Muggle-born witch. I am part Muggle-born. The chances that there is no other fitting match for us are _infinitesimal_. I am not an arithmantist, but I would not be at all surprised if we were to find out that someone had fudged with the genealogies in an attempt to make sure that there was _no_ legal match for me."

"WHAT?" Her outrage made him smile.

"Hermione, you know who I am. What I was."

She swallowed hard. "But – if they bewitched the genealogies … then how … how is _that _possible?" Hermione gestured at the scroll.

Severus caught her gaze. "Remember the ceremony when you became my apprentice?" he asked. _"Blood to sign you, kiss to bind you?"_

She nodded.

"The same principle holds true for the most ancient and most powerful betrothal rites. I do not remember anything of what you did to save me, but I am told that …" He inhaled sharply. "… that it was not unlike this ritual."

"But … wouldn't you have to … I don't know … agree?"

Severus looked at her with that strange sadness in his eyes and inclined his head. "Yes," he replied. "That is true. As I said, I don't remember anything at all. But had I been aware of anyone calling me in that realm betwixt and between … At that time … I would not have thought of you when I answered a woman's call."

**oooOooo**


	65. Would You Pass Me the Sugar, Please?

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Would You Pass Me the Sugar, Please? **

What softer side Severus Snape might possess, he'd very definitely left it behind in the dungeons today. Like the proverbial bat out of hell he swept up the stairs and through the corridors, scattering students left and right, who winced in his wake and didn't even dare to respond to Hermione's reassuring smile.

_"My Lady Greensleeves,"_ Snape hissed at the gargoyle that guarded the office of the headmistress.

With a black swirl of his robes, he imperiously entered the room that had briefly been his two years ago. "Minerva."

"S– Severus. And Hermione. What a pleasant surprise. I did not expect you. How are you, my dear? I hope you are feeling better."

"If you did not expect us, Minerva, then you still have a lot to learn," Snape interrupted.

A stifled chuckle issued from the golden picture frame behind McGonagall's desk. Snape scowled at Dumbledore's portrait. "Dumbledore. Don't you have … business to attend to? Places to go? Canvas to adorn? Oil colour to sniff?"

The former headmaster's eyes twinkled almost as brightly as they had in real life. In the portrait he'd shrugged off his robes. He stood before them in shirt sleeves and bright pink braces that held up a pair of violet trousers. "Actually, Severus, you are lucky today. My golf partners just informed me that they had to cancel our match for this afternoon. So today my time is completely at your disposal."

"Albus, don't tease him so. Don't you see that he's not in a good mood?"

"Minerva, Severus has never appreciated being mollycoddled, neither by our own dear Molly, nor by you or even by myself."

"Minerva, Severus can speak for himself, and if you really want to do something for him, send that old codger on his way," Snape snarled.

The Headmistress frowned and fixed Snape with her patent penetrating stare. Snape merely raised a black eyebrow towards the portrait and crossed his arms in front of his chest in a gesture of exaggerated patience.

McGonagall's frown deepened. "Albus, if you don't mind, I would prefer to speak with Severus and Hermione alone."

Albus Dumbledore glared at his successor, but then he winked at Hermione, picked up his robe and quietly slipped from the frame.

Minerva moved around her desk and sat down, gesturing to Snape and Hermione to take a seat as well. "I am sorry, but I have no new information for you about the attack. The Aurors, and I assume the Unspeakables are still working on the case."

"This is not about the attack," interrupted Snape. "At least not … only about it."

He did not look at Hermione, but concentrated on the Headmistress.

Hermione's heart was thudding in her chest, and her hands felt unsteady. She would have liked to fidget and squirm or play with her hair or scratch at a hangnail. But that kind of thing was not quite the appropriate behaviour when your fiancé was going to talk to your boss about the planning of your wedding. She felt the almost irrepressible urge to cup her face in her hands and mutter an endless stream of _"Ohmygods"_. For almost a year she had lived with _The Plan_. For almost a year she had thought about little else. For almost a year she had not hoped to succeed.

Now she had succeeded and failed and all at the same time.

"In that case, what do you want to talk about?" A straight line appeared above the bridge of Minerva's nose.

Snape remained completely unfazed. "You are keeping up with my schedule for the Probations Officer, I believe?"

At this change of tack, Minerva had enough. She removed her spectacles and glared at the Potions Master. "Severus Snape. Either you tell me what you want, or you get the hell out of my office. Hermione, if you need to talk to me, you can stay, of course."

Hermione dared to cast a glance at Severus out of the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glinted with the barest hint of mirth. He was enjoying himself!

"I will need no more than a minute of your precious time, Minerva. Then I will leave you to consort with your lion-cub in peace." He looked at Hermione for the first time since they'd entered the room. She could have sworn that just for second, maybe not even that, the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Then his expression grew stern again.

"Hermione and I are getting married," Severus said simply. "I wanted to ask you to ascertain the necessary requirements regarding the ceremony in order to fulfil the conditions of my probation."

It said a lot about the resilience and presence of mind of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry that Minerva McGonagall did not faint on the spot upon hearing that quiet announcement.

**oooOooo **

"Ron? Would you pass me the sugar, please? Oh, and before I forget … I'll be in London on Friday next week. And _uh_ … if you don't have anything else to do, maybe we could meet?

Harry felt his brows knit together and resisted the urge to rub his scar.

Ron, however, remained completely unconcerned. "Sure 'mione. No problem. I was going to meet Lois for lunch, but we can reschedule or meet all together. What are you doing here?"

Harry saw Hermione's lips quiver, then she bit down on her lower lip the way she always did when she was nervous. But something was different. A strange spark was gleaming in her eyes. _That was it!_ Her eyes were shining today! Harry remembered that light in her eyes. From way back when a simple five House points earned in Transfiguration could make Hermione happy.

_Could it possibly be ... ? _

Hermione couldn't suppress a grin now. "I'm getting married on Friday, Ronald. And I would be very happy if you and Lois and Harry and my other friends could be there."

**oooOooo**


	66. Never Doubt that this is Real

**Never Doubt that this is Real**

"TREACHEROUS TRAITOR OR TRUSTWORTHY TEACHER?

_While Muggle-born wizards and witches fear for their lives and renegade Death Eaters vanish into thin air, Severus Snape is entering the second year of his probation at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

Severus Snape (40), the most notorious of all Death Eaters escaped life-long imprisonment in Azkaban last year after Harry Potter and Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger testified in his favour. Since then Hermione Granger …"

**oooOooo**

Hermione flung the paper away with such force that it sailed over the table and landed on the floor, the wizards inside the picture on the first page stumbling dizzily around inside their rectangle.

"That's disgusting," Hermione hissed. "Can't they leave you alone?"

Next to her, Severus sighed. "Thank you for drawing the attention of all our students to the paper." He pulled his wand and flicked it. Gently the discarded paper floated up onto the table again, spreading itself out next to his cup of tea.

He scanned the article, his expression unreadable. At last he looked back at Hermione, eyes black, mouth thin.

"What did you expect, Hermione? You would do well not to forget with whom you are dealing here," he said in the soft, dangerous tone that could mask anger as well as bitterness. "_They_ haven't."

She wondered if he was referring only to himself. The thought of the disappeared Death Eaters was never far from her mind.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

The stony expression faltered for a second, before he fixed his scowl on her.

"You will need to be able to say my name, tomorrow," he observed. "If that is such a hardship, maybe we should arrange some time for you to practice pronouncing it?"

He raised an eyebrow, and drummed the tips of his steepled fingers against each other.

Promptly Hermione's hand began to shake and she had to put her cup down. Her heart syncopated its beats, making her feel rather woozy.

"Yes, s– Severus," she breathed.

"Severus," she repeated, firmer this time. _"SEH-ver-us."_

He smirked at her. "See, it's not all that difficult. Though I fully expect that on Saturday we will be reading an article in that rag here, which will argue the only thing that could have prompted you to marry me is the fact that I am at least able to pronounce your name accurately. If I recall correctly there are precedents regarding your first name, aren't there, _Herm-own-ninny_? Or should I simply say _'mione_?"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at that. But with the nasty article still in plain view, her mood darkened again quickly. Concentrating on her empty plate – she simply wasn't hungry enough to eat breakfast – she finally voiced what was troubling her the most regarding their upcoming marriage. "I think I'm rather more worried about that this – this scandal sheet will print that it's nothing but a paper marriage." She glanced at Severus worriedly.

"I have no doubt that they will print exactly that. And worse," he said frankly. "However, Aceline Loxweild-Spalt was very thorough in her research. She's the best lawyer money can buy, Hermione. My probation only asks for _'marriage'_. It doesn't require a specific rite – hell, it doesn't even require consummation! As far as I can see, there is no way for them to challenge the validity of our marriage. That would only be possible if we were marrying _only_ to keep me out of prison." His voice was so soft, when he continued, that Hermione knew that only she could hear what Severus was saying. "I am not sure what it is that we are doing here, Hermione. But whatever it is – it is not just _'for show'_. Never doubt that whatever this is, it _is_ real."

**oooOooo **

On Friday, April 28, 2000 Ron Weasley met Lois Petrel for breakfast in Muggle coffee-place of American origin. As it was not the first time they went there, he felt fairly self-assured and quite cosmopolitan as he marched up to the bar and ordered a _half-caf-decaf-cappuccino-with-cream-but-hold-the-cocoa _and some of those American Muggle cauldron– no, cupc– no, muffins.

While Ron waited for his order to be readied, he caught a glance at himself in the gleaming metal of the machinery. Dressed in black jeans and a charcoal grey jumper (both picked out by Lois), his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, he looked almost like a Muggle. And like an adult, something which was infinitely more important to him. He had to _be_ an adult. Lois enjoyed fooling around as much as he did, but she'd been bringing up her daughter on her own since she was sixteen years old. If their relationship was to have any future at all, he had to be a man, and not a boy to her.

Sometimes, like today, that was rather hard on Ron. As they settled down in the comfortable armchairs, mugs of coffee and plates of muffins on the small round table between them, he allowed himself to glower at the bag that contained his and Lois' shrunk dress robes as well as the wedding present for Hermione and Snape they had bought together the day before.

Then he turned his attention back to the graceful, dark-haired woman and forced a weak smile.

"I just can't believe that this is really happening," he muttered.

Lois – well aware of Ron's prejudices against the Potions Master and his fading infatuation with Hermione – rolled her eyes.

_"Really, Ronald,"_ she said in perfect mimicry of Hermione's way of speaking, before continuing in her ordinary mellow voice. "A blind man can see how much Hermione loves Severus. And although he may have a hard time accepting that, if you know Severus, then it's quite obvious that he is very much attracted to her. _And_ –" She raised a finger to prevent the rash words that were waiting to tumble from Ron's tongue. "And that he cares for her deeply."

Ron wasn't convinced, but he knew better than to argue with Lois. "If you say so …"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks go to Leany for the headline, the name of the famous lawyer-witch and Ron's order at a certain coffee-place of American origin.

Thanks to Whitehound for an interesting discussion about the various options of pronouncing Severus including phonetic symbols.


	67. The Foundations of Relationships

**The Foundations Relationships are Built on **

Lois sighed into her white chocolate mocha. "I _will_ admit that their situation does seem a bit peculiar to me, what with his probation and her apprenticeship. But I assure you, I've seen relationships based on much more questionable foundations."

Ron swallowed any disrespectful remarks about his former potions teacher that he might have been tempted to make, and observed Lois' face instead. He had noticed before, that sometimes, when they talked about relationships or about Alina, a shadow would cross her face, and her lips would press together into a hard line. He guessed that she was thinking about Alina's father in those moments. Normally that made Ron shut up quickly. He didn't feel any more comfortable today, but something prompted him to speak all the same.

"How was it between you and Alina's father?" he asked. "Did you ever think about getting married?"

Lois put down her mug. Her face went very still. Instantly Ron regretted his question. Had he spoken too soon? Just a few weeks ago, he probably would have blundered on right away. But now – _today of all times,_ he thought with wry amusement – he remembered the many times Hermione had snarled at him to THINK FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE before he opened his mouth. And he bit his tongue. Hard.

Lois toyed absently with the mug in front of her, turning it this way and that.

"He … he told me that he was working on his PhD in sociology. At that time in my life this held an enormous appeal for me. A 'real' man, so much older than I was. And an 'intellectual'. In my eyes he had to be terribly brilliant in order to be working on a PhD. He was my first crush and my first real love, all rolled into one. A … dangerous combination. And of course I was young and stupid and careless." She counted the words off on her fingers.

"Looking back, I guess I could have noticed that something was wrong. His … studies did not make him happy. He appeared to be under a lot of pressure all the time. I think he was very ambitious, but he worried too much to be truly brilliant. He lacked the … well, I guess you'd call it _'Gryffindor' _daring." Lois shrugged. "I thought he was merely brooding in an attractive, darkly academic way.  
"We argued often. He wasn't comfortable with my friends, or with going out. All the usual things young people do, clubbing, cinema, even watching TV … he didn't like that. At first I took his attitude for intellectual disdain, and tried very hard to live up to what I thought were his expectations of me.  
"Then … incidentally just a few days after a major row, I found out that I was pregnant."

Lois' eyes grew dark, her thoughts obviously far away. She shook herself, as if she had to bodily force her mind back to the present. For a moment Lois gazed pensively at Ron, as if she was trying to see though him or into him, trying to read his mind.

"I think he must have been a wizard," she said at last. "When I went to his flat to tell him that I was pregnant, the flat was gone. The button of his doorbell at the main entrance, the sign with his name on it. Inside the building the whole bloody landing with the door to his flat had disappeared. I thought I was going mad. "Then I went to his university. The faculty had never heard of a graduate student working on his PhD with the name he'd given me. The few acquaintances we'd gone out with together … none of them really remembered him. They did recall going out with us, but they were vague about his name and about what he was studying. When I asked if they knew where he had gone, they kind of shrugged their shoulders and suggested that maybe he'd accepted a job somewhere or his family had moved. Or _'something'_.  
"Whatever. He was gone. I was alone. I was sixteen and I was pregnant." Her eyes misted over. "Damn," she said softly. "I didn't mean to cry.  
"But if this …" She forced a smile and gestured at the air between them. "If this thing between us is supposed to lead anywhere, you deserve to know the truth about Alina's father. Or as much of the truth as I am able to tell you." She paused, and when she continued, her voice was harsh with bitterness. "I can't even tell Alina the name of her father, Ron. Because he lied to me. He never even told me his _fucking_ name."

**oooOooo **

The visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic was an old-fashioned telephone box. Ron stepped behind it and drew Lois closer to the wall of the building it nestled against. Smiling at her, he drew his wand.

"I'm only casting a quick _'Do-Not-Notice-Us'_ Charm, so we can pull on the robes," he explained the deft flick of his wand and a few muttered words.

Another wand-turn, and the handkerchief-sized robes he had pulled from his bag changed into heavy fabric spilling over his arms. "Here you go."

Feeling self-conscious, Lois slipped into the Bordeaux-coloured robes.

"How do I look?" she asked and twirled for him.

"Stunning," Ron mouthed. Judging from his dumbstruck expression, he was completely sincere.

Lois laughed. Ron might be a couple of years younger than she was, but she appreciated his straightforward honesty, and even his sometimes painfully naïve bluntness very much.

"You don't think the others will mind – that I'm not in Muggle clothes?"

"Well, you _are_ – only underneath." Ron grinned at her. "I think."

"This is not the appropriate moment for any comparisons between Muggle and magic underwear, Ronald Weasley. But honest? Do you really think it's okay?

"Of course it is okay. There's no law against Muggles wearing robes. And besides, I told you. You're beautiful!"

**oooOooo**


	68. Like a Bridge

**Like a Bridge **

It was a bit of a squeeze inside the phone box, but Ron didn't mind. Of course not, Lois mused, as they stepped into a busy corridor. After all he had managed to get not only a tight embrace out of this unusual elevator, but also a kiss. Lois grinned. Ron's technique might not be very sophisticated, but his lips tasted like ripe forest fruits, fresh and tart.

Harry and Ginny were already waiting for them.

"Oh, just look at you!" Ginny exclaimed. "Almost like a witch!" She glanced at her brother. "I hope Ron didn't suggest the colour just to annoy Alina?"

Lois chuckled. "He might have. But no, in spite of this being an almost Gryffindor red, _I _picked the colour – because it looks nice with my hair and eyes. And I think I still miss a rather important implement in order to pass as a witch."

"I'd be happy to let you hold my wand," Ron offered at once.

Ginny groaned. Lois faked a blow at his head. "I just bet you are …"

Ron grinned unrepentantly. "But honest, Lois, I don't even think it's illegal for you to _own_ a wand. It's just a crime to sell it to you. And anyway, you know what they say …"

Lois arched an eyebrow at him. _"When in Rome, do as the Romans do?" _

Ginny frowned. "I thought that was rather _'When in Rome, stay the hell away from the enchanted fountains and the Vatican'_?"

Ron shook his head and caught Lois' eyes. "What I really wanted to say was … well, blood is thicker than water and all that. You're Alina's mother. You're part of our world now."

**oooOooo **

The hall of the Registry Office in the Ministry of Magic was already packed when Harry, Ginny, Ron and Lois entered. Lois saw many witches and wizards she knew, both from Hogwarts and the Order. To start with, all the Weasleys were lined up in the front row. One of their own would be conducting the ceremony. Today marked Percy Weasley's finest hour –and his first wedding as Registry Officer.

Ron had explained that office weddings weren't very popular in the wizarding world. Most people wanted special magical rites. Apparently such rituals could enhance the magical powers of a couple and increase their fertility. Lois found those ideas quite intriguing. Given the situation of Hermione and Severus, however, she rather understood why they had opted for a quick Registry Office affair.

From the look of things, this wedding would be spectacular nevertheless. In front of the room a dozen reporters and photographers were milling about. And while there seemed to be many friends and acquaintances present, a number of dark-robed, ominous figures were lingering in the shadows at the back of the hall.

"Hello, Hermione. You are really beautiful today!" Lois embraced her friend tightly.

Hermione did indeed look lovely – if white as a sheet. The soft, moss-green velvet of a long dress shimmered underneath the hem and at the neckline of her customary black-and-green apprentice-robes, and a wide ribbon of the same colour and fabric kept her curly hair out of her face. Apart from that her jewellery was the only concession to the occasion.

Hermione was wearing emeralds.

"Normally, witches don't wear jewellery for their wedding ritual. But as this is really just a bureaucratic act today, I thought I might as well do the Muggle thing." Hermione shrugged uneasily.

"Your grandmother would be very happy if she knew that you are wearing her jewels on your wedding day," Lois said. "And I love the symbolism."

Hermione's fingers flew up to touch the emerald beads of her necklace.

"Yes," she agreed with a faint smile. "Emeralds for love and life."

**oooOooo **

Lois' former patient was dressed in his customary severe scowl and black robes. She suspected however that the scowl was linked with the presence of a plump witch introduced as Dolores Umbridge, Probations Officer, who stuck to the side of Percy Weasley like an obnoxious pink burr.

"Thank you for the invitation." Lois smiled and offered her hand.

"Lois. How good of you to come," Snape ground out, glowering at the hovering Umbridge.

"Be easy on your voice, Severus. You'll need it to say some very important words in a little while."

For a second Snape glared at her as if he wanted to hex her. But then he surprised Lois. A hint of smile ghosted over his lips and he inclined his head, allowing his hair to fall forward so it would hide his softening expression.

"Yes, indeed. I do," he replied – and this time his voice flowed smoothly, like silk.

**oooOooo **

The ceremony was short and to the point, and went without a hitch.

"… marriage, says an old proverb," intoned Percy Weasley, "is like a bridge you have to rebuild every day – from both sides. I hope that the bridge you are building will last long years and that it will prove solid enough to carry your lives safely to the other side of whichever river you may want to cross."

"_Err…_ Professor Snape? You may kiss Her…_ err…_ the bride."

To everyone's surprise, Severus Snape did just that.

**oooOooo **

If looks could kill, neither Hermione nor Severus would have survived the ceremony. The toad-like Probations Officer in her frilly tweed costume was definitely not amused.

**oooOooo **

Twelve witnesses were asked to step up to the table and undersign the certificate of marriage. Lois was a little shocked, but also incredibly pleased, when her name was called.

Severus' bold scrawl was affixed next to Hermione's two neat signatures of her maiden and her new married name, written in a strange rust-coloured ink.

Lois bent over the creamy expanse of parchment. With plain black ink she carefully wrote her name. Her signature was the twelfth, thus rendering the certificate legally valid.

"Congratulations!" Lois beamed at the newly-weds. "How does it feel to be husband and wife?"

Both of them merely stared at Lois in silence, looking rather shell-shocked.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The old proverb Percy uses to conclude the ceremony is actually a quote from the German writer Ulrich Beer. The original reads "Marriage is a bridge you have to rebuild every day – best of all from both sides." That quote was on a card I got for my own wedding in 2001, and it's been one of my favourites ever since. The quote is also a hint concerning what else will yet be happening in this story. Ha!

The strange, rust-coloured ink is blood, of course.


	69. Doves and Childhood Dreams

**Doves and Childhood Dreams**

His wife looked ready to faint. The urge to vehemently clear his throat was quite overwhelming. Only months of Lois Petrel drilling him about good vocal hygiene prevented him. _"Don't whisper, that's not good for you. Don't cough, that's even worse. And never ever clear your throat."_ – Was he allowed to sigh? Right now Severus Snape didn't remember and he didn't care. He didn't want a glass of water to ease his throat either.

What he wanted was an hour alone with Minerva's collection of whiskies.

"Hermione, I think they are waiting for us," he said softly, putting a hand under her elbow to steady her.

"Oh. Yes."

"There will be journalists waiting for us out there. And photographers," he reminded her.

"Yes. Right."

Severus could feel how she inhaled, how her back straightened, head high, chin thrust forward. He didn't need to read her mind to know what she was thinking: "_Gryffindor courage."_ He was sorely tempted to whisper into her ear, "Care to share?"

But since whispering wasn't good for his voice, he remained silent. A scowl wouldn't be appropriate either. But he assumed that as a former Death Eater he was allowed to live up to his name even on his wedding day. His expression severe, he led Hermione towards the door, Potter and Ginevra Weasley hard on their heels. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Potter's right hovered over his wand holster. Did he expect an attack right here in the Ministry?

Outside Snape felt as if he had walked into a thunderstorm – lightning flashed from all sides, the noise of voices was deafening like thunder.

Suddenly Ginny prodded his arm. "You have to give them what they've been waiting for, Professor. Kiss Hermione, and make a good show of it. Harry will field the questions while we make our escape. But you _have_ to give them something!"

Hermione had stopped dead, her fingers gripping his arm so hard that the sensitive scar tissue on the inside of his forearm twinged. He glanced at her, and suddenly his incredulous heart skipped a beat.

_She married me. _

She had married him to ensure his freedom. She had married him because she loved him with all her heart. In spite of the fact that _he_ did not love her.

_… yet,_ reminded him an echo of his own words and a strange feeling coiled and uncoiled inside him. Stronger than longing, different from desire.

_And she wants me. _

At that thought, desire _did_ flare up in the pit of his stomach, sending fiery tendrils further down.

"Hermione," he sighed.

She turned, her eyes huge. The moss-green ribbon in her hair and the glowing emeralds at her throat brought out sparks of green in her eyes that he had never seen before. She swallowed and quickly licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

For a second he wondered what her tongue might feel like twined around his own – then he pressed his lips against hers.

She stiffened for a moment, surprised by his action, no doubt, before she softened in his arms. Her hips swayed against him, her small round breasts teased him even through all those layers of fabric that separated them.

And her lips …

… her lips tasted of summer.

**oooOooo **

The wedding reception was held in the Room of Requirement.

The Room had outdone itself and transformed into a beautiful hall with a soaring wooden ceiling that looked like an overturned hulk of a ship. Tapestries that displayed mythical garden scenes covered the walls in gentle colours of green and cream, with muted splashes of colours were roses and iris bloomed. High Gothic windows looked out on beautiful golden summer sunshine somewhere or somewhen. A long table decked out in white linens, precious porcelain and gleaming sterling cutlery took up the middle of the room, surrounded by many high-backed chairs that matched the tapestries.

At the centre of the dining table, a sprawling arrangement of leaves and flowers shone in greens, yellows and whites, filling the room with the fresh fragrance of perfect spring.

"Wow," Hermione whispered, awestruck.

Severus and their guests were affected likewise, because as one after the other of their friends filed into the room, only the occasional murmur broke the silence.

"What did you think of?" she asked, turning an astonished gaze up at her husband.

Severus blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was just as speechless as she was.

"Nothing," he admitted, his voice hoarser than it had been in weeks. "I – I probably should have, but … I was …"

He indicated the ring on her finger. The moment the enchanted dragon heartstring had touched their skin, it had transformed into matching golden wedding bands.

Hermione nodded. "I couldn't come up with anything useful to concentrate on either."

A smile bloomed on her face. "It's absolutely magical."

To her surprise, he smiled back. "Most certainly.  
"Does it remind you of anything? Something you might have unconsciously connected with … this occasion?"

Hermione creased her forehead. Yes, somehow she _did_ seem to recall this room, or something _about_ this room. But she knew she had never been here before. She tilted her head back, studying the honey-coloured beams above their heads. A flock of white doves was sitting on the beams below the high, vaulted ceiling.

_Hopefully they are just as magical as the rest of the room,_ Hermione thought, _and don't defecate on our food,_ as she looked at the open window at the far end of the room. As golden god-rays slanted into the room, she recognised the scene.

"Oh my," she breathed and blinked rapidly.

"What is it?"

"I remember now where I know this room from." She couldn't prevent a certain wistfulness from creeping into her voice. "It's quite silly. It's from a book I had as a small child. You know, the kind of books people give to little girls so they can imagine their happy ending."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks to sshg316 for providing more details about the healing progress of Severus' voice and his therapy.


	70. Gifts and Flowers

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Gifts and Flowers **

"What about you?" Hermione asked and peered up at him, eyes wide with wonder.

Severus Snape stared at the table. Absently he lifted his hand to his forehead, is if he wanted to smooth away the lines there, or ward off an impending headache.

"The flowers," he said at last. "My mother loved flowers and their hidden meanings. She had an old Muggle book from the 19th century – her mother was a Muggle, too – about the secret language of flowers. When I was a small child, she used to make up stories for me while she was working in her scrap of a garden.

"I suppose you could describe them as stories with the happy ending a mother imagines for her son."

"Oh." Hermione turned her attention to the flowers.

Severus knew she would recognise them, thanks to her NEWT in herbology.

There were three greens – fern, young oak leaves and ivy –, three whites – blooming myrtle, apple blossoms and honeysuckle – and three yellows – iris, zinnia and daffodils.

"So there is a message for us hidden in those flowers?"

He nodded. "Yes."

His eyes glinted like obsidian in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the high windows. "Each plant and flower of this arrangement has its own meaning. Fern is for magic, shelter and sincerity. Oak leaves," he couldn't help smiling, "for bravery. Ivy, of course, symbolises wedded love. Myrtle is an ancient Hebrew symbol for marriage. In common flower lore, however, it simply stands for love. Apple blossoms for good fortune. Honeysuckle …" He frowned a little. "_Bonds of love._ Yellow iris for passion. Zinnia … for daily remembrance. And daffodils –"

"I thought daffodils were something bad?" asked Hermione, obviously recalling some half-forgotten Muggle folklore.

"Not when there are many of them."

She laughed. "There's rather a lot of them."

"Indeed."

"So what do they mean?"

Somehow his hand slipped around her back, delighting in the feel of smooth velvet over gentle curves. He leant his head a little against hers. Just enough to be able to smell her hair. _Could hair smell of sunshine? _

"Joy and happiness," Severus replied.

**oooOooo **

Sometime between cheese and dessert, Alina got bored. She couldn't help fidgeting on the scratchy fabric of her fancy chair. And it was _really_ difficult to keep from curling her braids up and down, just to keep her hands busy. But she didn't complain. She'd rather end up buried by debris again than to disturb her favourite teachers' party. Though she had to admit that she much preferred Slytherin house parties. Grown-ups had such a boring idea of fun.

Suddenly someone nudged her. When she turned to look, it was the young blond witch who was friends with Hermione. _A Ravenclaw like Prue,_ Alina recalled.

"Hello Alina," she said. "I don't know if you remember my name from when we were introduced – I'm Luna.

"I know it always sounds horrible when adults say that, but I _have_ heard a lot about you. What do you think? Should we explore the room for a bit? I don't think I could eat another bite just now. And I'm afraid they'll try to squeeze in another speech or two between the cheese and the dessert."

Alina turned to her mother. "Mum? May I? Please?"

Lois frowned at her.

"We're not going anywhere, Lois," Luna put in. "This room is special. And it's quite safe. Really."

"And you don't mind?"

Luna smiled. "I wouldn't have offered in that case. It's been a while since I've seen this room in action. I'll enjoy myself as much as Alina. Don't worry. – I think Hermione is very glad that you're here today."

Her mother looked grateful and Alina felt promptly ashamed. Hermione had been her babysitter when she was a toddler. And Professor Snape was her Head of House. And she couldn't even manage to sit still through their wedding dinner.

"Really, don't worry." Luna glanced at Alina. "_Both_ of you. And now come along, Alina! Do you know what Room this is?"

**oooOooo **

_The Room of Requirement was absolutely amazing,_ Alina decided.

Luna told her all kinds of stories about the room, some of them quite scary. And the room itself! In the wooden panels below the tapestries they discovered numerous hidden compartments and cupboards. One of them had revealed a large silver sword with rubies in its hilt, hidden behind a protective glass screen. Alina gaped at it, while Luna smiled and nodded.

_Oh …_ Exultation flooded Alina, as she thought about how her friends would react to what she had seen here today. _The sword of Godric Gryffindor! _

But even better: the Room of Requirement had given her a present.

When Alina slid her hand over a small knothole in the panelling, it swung back like the mechanism of a gumball machine and popped a small bag made of dark blue velvet into her hands. Inside was a tiny silver bell with a mahogany handle, a silken kerchief wrapped around its clapper.

When she wanted to remove the fabric, Luna put her hand over the bell.

"Leave it. You can safely assume that it's magical, and you don't know what effect the sound of that bell may have. Put it away for now. You can examine it later with your friends." Contemplatively Luna eyed the small bell. "Maybe you should have a teacher look at it … On the other hand, I shouldn't think that the Room is in the habit of making dangerous gifts.  
"Oh, and now I think it's time for the dessert. Ready to eat some more?"

Alina carefully put the bell back and secreted it away in her robes. "Sure. Do you smell chocolate?"

As Alina rose to her feet, she noticed something lying on the mantelpiece between two golden candle sconces. "Look! Another daffodil! I wonder what it's doing over here all by itself."

Luna shrugged. "Maybe a house-elf forgot it? Come on, I think your mother wants to talk to you before the banquet is over."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Floriography was quite _en vogue_ in the 19th century. The book _"The Flowers Personified"_ from 1847 is available online. Google it - it's really interesting. The arrangement of flowers used in this chapter is based on various online resources (too many to list them here). I'm not sure if a florist would approve of the arrangement, but at least the colours go well together and the meaning works.

A single daffodil symbolizes misfortune.

**Disclaimer: **For the rest of this story I will be borrowing a concept, several items and a setting from Garth Nix' "Abhorsen Trilogy". Highly recommended reading!

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	71. What Happens Now?

**What Happens Now? **

It was after midnight, when they left the Room of Requirement and descended down to the dungeons.

The sounds of their steps echoed in the silent corridors and empty staircases. Hermione's high heels clacked in an odd descant to the tense stride of her husband.

_Husband. _

Her heartbeat thudded uncomfortably in her chest and the sensitive skin of her hands prickled at the thought. She glanced sideways at Severus as they crossed the Entrance Hall to the stairs that led down to their quarters.

This was their wedding night.

Late or not, tired or not, her heart began to race, while her stomach tightened with nerves. She knew Severus had been honest when he had told her that he did not love her. Just as he had been truthful when he had admitted to the fact that he did feel attracted to her. That he did care about her. And yesterday morning, when he had reassured her that however this marriage would turn out to be, it would be real.

Then the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to the staircase that led up to their private rooms.

_What would happen now? _

Once inside the corridor, Hermione frowned. The hallway was much longer than she remembered it. Severus must have noticed it, too, because he sighed.

"I should have anticipated this. I believe the castle saw it fit to rearrange our living quarters to our new … situation."

"Situation?" She turned towards him, torn between exasperation and amusement.

He looked down his nose at her, nostrils quivering. Hermione frowned. Was he annoyed? But his eyes glinted black in the torchlight. No – not annoyed. Rather: exasperated. And amused as well.

She grinned at him. "Shall we explore?"

As it turned out, Hogwarts hadn't changed all that much. The library had been enlarged to double as a sitting room and was now situated between _two_ studies. Next to the laboratory they discovered a beautiful dining room with a balcony. Additionally there was a new bathroom with a small pool and shower big enough for two. The bedrooms the castle had left alone.

They ended up in the library again, and, Hermione thought, back to square one.

_Wedding night. _

She stared at Severus, unconsciously rubbing the slim golden ring around her finger. She just had no idea what to … do … or to expect.

"What … what happens now?" she finally asked.

It was awkward to stand three feet away from … her husband, and feeling just the same as she had any number of times while a student in his classroom: nervous and intimidated. She concentrated on the hem of her green dress, trying to assess his mood unobtrusively from underneath lowered lashes.

He wasn't any more comfortable than she was. His eyes glittered and his upper lip was curling into a snarl. "If you are scared that I shall require you to fulfil your marital obligations now, I can ease your mind."

Severus shook his head, his fine, slick hair flying. "Hermione, _look_ at me!"

With two swift strides he crossed the distance between them. Cool fingers touched her chin and forced her head up until she met his gaze. As always his beautiful black eyes made her stomach tingle and tighten.

"I will never demand anything from you," he said in a soft voice. "Nothing. Least of all … anything … like that. You have already given me more than I deserve. My life. My freedom."

His hands slid to her shoulders, with careful, light touches.

"Please, Hermione," he murmured. "Don't look so scared."

"But what –" Her voice didn't quite sound as if it belonged to her. "But what if I – if I – if I wanted you to …"

Severus raised an eyebrow at her and pulled her closer to him. When she gasped at the feeling of his arousal pressed against her stomach, he smirked. "You only need to ask."

Then he frowned, his eyes searching her face. "Why are you so terribly nervous, Hermione?"

Her cheeks burned, but she couldn't break his gaze. "Because … I've never … done this before."

His reaction was instant. He took a step backwards. He stared at her, his face studiously devoid of any expression that might betray thoughts or feelings.

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled, sinking down on one of the squashy armchairs, burying her face in her hands. That was certainly the strangest wedding night she could ever have imagined, with the bride apologising for the fact that she was still a virgin.

A rustle of his robes, and his scent flowed over her. Gentle fingers reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face. To her surprise Severus was kneeling before her.

"It is I who ought to apologise," he said gravely. "Please forgive me. I had never expected …" He shook his head. "Perhaps it is time for me to stop expecting anything, when my life seems to consist solely of surprises lately."

Severus drew her hands to his lips and kissed them. He dropped kisses on her palms and whispered caresses over her fingers. The soft touch on the over-sensitive skin of her hands sent a jolt of pleasure through her body and provoked a shivery sigh. Her reaction seemed to please him. Slowly, cautiously, as if he wanted to make sure that he didn't frighten her, he reached for her face and trailed his fingertips along the lines of her face, forehead, temple, ear, jaw, until he reached her chin. He bent forwards – she leant towards him – their lips met. Like warm silk, his lips covered her mouth. When his tongue flicked against her lips, the sensation was exquisite. In a sigh of pleasure, her lips opened to his touch.

He explored her, teasing the corners of her mouth, slipping in, swirling along the inside of her lips, snaking around her tongue. Severus tasted of the wine and whisky they had drunk, of spices and a hint of the bittersweet chocolate from the dessert.

**oooOooo**


	72. The Night after the Wedding

**The Night after the Wedding **

When she came back to the world, Hermione was on her knees. Only Severus' embrace kept her from collapsing.

"I think," he said hoarsely. "That is quite enough for tonight. We are both tired and not quite sober."

When she uttered a soft noise of protest, he kissed the corner of her mouth, sending another spark of desire through her body. A reaction that did not escape his attention. His eyes shone with a satisfied gleam.

"There is time for everything, Hermione. Time enough. We can still count the times we have kissed on our fingers."

"But –"

"Shhh," he laid a long, slender finger over her mouth, before tenderly tracing her lips with his fingertip.

"I do want you, Hermione," he stated. The unadulterated possessiveness in his voice caused a pleasant warmth to spread through her stomach.

His lips curled into an unexpected smile. "I desire you very much. But I assure you that shared intimacy is more rewarding if the process to reach its completion is not rushed and if each stage is savoured for its own sake."

She couldn't breathe. He had bewitched her mind, ensnared her senses. She gulped audibly, trying desperately to fashion her fraying thoughts into a coherent answer.

"That … sounds much like the brewing of a potion," she gasped at last. "You need to add each ingredient at exactly the right time … stir with a precise rhythm …"

_And hadn't his tongue stirred her desire just as adroitly has he mixed his brews? _

"Indeed," he smirked.

Although her aroused body regretted it, her mind was willing to agree to his reasoning. Her heart remained torn. Whatever was going to happen or not, she did not want to sleep alone tonight. Her face or body must have given her away. Severus rose to his feet and drew her up with him. Once they were standing, he embraced her once more, but did not allow her to touch his lower body.

"What do you want? I can see it in your eyes – you want to ask a question, but you don't dare. While I might enjoy such rare an occurrence normally, tonight I would prefer you to simply _tell_ me what you want."

She took a deep breath. As an adult woman, _as his wife,_ she should be able to answer a simple question in a complete sentence.

"Even if – we don't sleep _with_ each other tonight," she said, ignoring the heat that suffused her cheeks, "I –don't want to sleep alone tonight. If you don't mind."

In the depth of his eyes an emotion flickered. Disbelief? His embrace tightened, allowing her to feel again that his body at least had _very_ different ideas about the pace of progress for their relationship.

"Mind? Foolish woman. Why would I mind that?"

**oooOooo **

He was dressed in sensible black pyjamas, fine cotton, not satin or silk, almost as concealing as his daywear, when he re-emerged from her bathroom. When he noticed her curious look, a weary expression crossed his face.

"I learnt years ago that it wasn't a good idea to wear the nightshirts favoured by most wizards … or any – shall we say _'enticing'_ fabrics – in case I was summoned."

Hermione stared at him, at a loss for words. She had not expected his newfound openness to extend quite that far.

An instinct as old as mankind tugged at her heart. If only she could heal his heart, smooth away those pains and hurts. But when she saw his bleak, black eyes, she knew that no instinct would suffice. Maybe nothing ever would. Suddenly the years and experiences that separated them turned into a deep abyss.

He passed her and slipped under the green covers without sparing her another glance. Only when he had settled down in her magically enlarged four poster bed, he looked at Hermione again.

And then Hermione showed that she was indeed a Gryffindor.

She smiled at her husband, and began to undress.

At last she stood naked in front of her bed. She was acutely aware that her nipples were still taut with arousal and the slight chill of the room, and more than a little self-conscious at showing herself to Severus with all her little imperfections: the purple scar at her throat from Bellatrix' knife, the paler mark from the curse that had hit her in the Ministry of Magic, the slightly irregular shape of her breasts, the way her hipbones jutted out painfully because she was so thin.

With some trepidation, she sought his eyes, and was shocked at the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were blazing, his face – she had never seen Severus Snape like that before … his expression completely unguarded, laid bare, not for the world, but for her eyes only to see.

And he was looking at her, as if she was … she couldn't find the right word, caught in that mesmerizing gaze … something special and unexpected, at the very least.

She padded over to the bed and pulled out her nightshirt from below her pillow.

"It's green," she said pointedly.

"So I see."

As she slipped into the bed, her heartbeat quickened. She had never slept in the same bed with someone else before. Even after years of sharing a dorm, this would be a new experience.

"May … I?"

He frowned, but nodded.

She scooted over with an awkward slither, before she curled up against him. He was too thin for a man of his size. But he felt good next to her. Strong, and warm, and solid. His tantalizing, addictive scent enveloped her. Severus exhaled deeply, then he slid an arm around her, drawing her even closer to his side. Hermione felt a small, contented sigh escape her lips as she snuggled closer to her husband and inhaled his special fragrance.

A few breaths later she was already falling asleep, sucked into the warm darkness of safe, sheltered slumber, for once without any dreams or nightmares at all.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Once again thanks to Aranel, Leany, Marta and Zeegrindylows for patience beyond what I deserve and much encouragement.


	73. Hold on Tight

**Hold on Tight**

"Crookshanks! Crooks! Croooooooks!" The panicked voice of Alina Petrel echoed noisily in the dungeons of Slytherin House.

Ebe – Ebenezer Sibly-Style – came up for air from his Potions essay. "What's wrong, Ali?"

"Her– Mrs. Snape's cat! I was supposed to watch him for the weekend, while they are gone. And now HE is gone, too!" Her lower lip was trembling. "I promised to take care of him. And now he's disappeared and they haven't even been gone two hours!"

"Shit," her friend said succinctly. "Where have you seen him last?"

"I'm not sure. He explored the common room for a while, then he curled up on my bed. I still have that essay to write for Professor McGonagall, and when I was halfway through, I thought I'd take a look to see if Crooks was all right or if he wanted food or something … and he was gone!"

Ebe did his best thoughtful scowl, tracing his lips with the fingertip of his right forefinger. Alina rolled her eyes. He was taking things a bit far regarding his imitation of their Head of House. If Professor Snape ever caught that, Ebe would probably spend the rest of the term in detention, scrubbing cauldrons and pickling frog-brains.

"We need to search the house at once," he said decisively. "He's a half-kneazle, right? So Summoning Charms are out."

Alina nodded. _Oh God, this couldn't be happening. Not to her. Hermione had trusted her!_

Ebe was already approaching the Seventh Year prefect, Ciardha Vaisey. "Sir? We have a problem …"

**oooOooo **

"Don't be afraid," Severus said in a low voice. "Just hold on tight."

The CRACK of the Apparition was the loudest Hermione had heard so far, and the blackness that engulfed her seemed endless, although it probably didn't last more than a few seconds. But these seconds were terrifying enough – existence without a body, being trapped neither here nor there, unable to breathe, to feel.

Then she was in his arms again, his lips kissably close, his eyes piercing as if he could look right into her heart.

Severus seemed reluctant to let her go. As far as Hermione was concerned, she would have been happy to keep standing in his embrace a while longer, wherever they were.

_… wherever they were? _

"Where are we?" she asked. Drawing away from him, she turned around in an astonished circle, gasping at the façade of a huge church looming up above them. "We're not in Britain anymore, are we? _That's_ why you asked me to wear Muggle clothes!"

"Excellent deduction, Miss Granger, however did you notice?" Severus sneered. "As a matter of fact, we are in France."

"It's Mrs. Snape," she retorted. "And I knew that. People speaking French and street signs in French are rather a clue. Also, the Apparition noise was louder than usual. – I didn't know you could do cross-channel Apparition." She tried not to frown. She _did_ trust him implicitly.

"Relax, Mrs. Snape," he murmured. "While I wouldn't dare cross-continental Side-along Apparition if it wasn't absolutely necessary, you are quite safe with me within Europe."

"You've done _cross-continental_ Apparition?" Hermione gaped at her husband.

He nodded with a small smirk. "Apparition is about power and concentration. I have both."

"Hmm." That much was obvious. "Where exactly in France are we? And why have you brought me here?"

"This is the cathedral of Chartres. One of the finest examples of Gothic architecture in France. Famous for its stained glass windows and their exceptionally vivid blue colour. Come, let's have a look inside."

She glanced at him sideways. "I get to wear jeans and you remain dressed like a priest? Severus, if you so much as _look _at me while you're dressed like that, people will be shocked!"

He quirked an eyebrow, but pulled his wand from his sleeve. A quick, surreptitious gesture, and Severus stood next to her in blue jeans and a black shirt.

"Better?"

Hermione stared at him, flabbergasted. "Who _are _you? And what have you done to Severus Snape?"

"Maybe I simply want to ensure that I have all the opportunity to _'look'_ at you while we are here that I can get – _without_ arousing any undue suspicion?" he asked silkily, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

**oooOooo **

The interior of the cathedral was very dark. The high, angular ceilings were lost in shadows, and twilight obscured the views of the long aisles. Incense filled the air.

Hermione thought that they must have entered the church not long after the end of a service. Several persons were still kneeling in the pews, mostly old women dressed in black, and there were only few tourists wandering around, peering into chapels and staring up at the windows.

Severus moved along without a noise beside her and Hermione felt the urge to walk on tiptoes, even though her sneakers barely made a sound on the flag stones.

She could barely remember the last time she had been in a church. As a child she had gone to church with her mother every Sunday. But then she had received her letter. And everything had changed. Uncomfortably, Hermione hugged herself, then hid her shaking hands inside her jeans-pockets. Why had she stopped going to church? Obviously at Hogwarts that was impossible, but she could have gone in the holidays.

"Keep those hands out of your pockets," Severus hissed. "Show some respect."

Hermione jumped. Her hands icy, her face on fire, she ducked her head. "Sorry, s– I'm sorry."

He nodded, and gestured to move on to the eastern end of the cathedral.

"This part of the cathedral is normally called _'apses'_ and if it is accessible, an _'ambulatory apses'_. In this case, the correct term, however, is _'chevet'_ due to the radiating chapels built around the 'head' of the cathedral," Severus explained in a low voice. "Come, let us sit down in the nave for a while. I believe there's a choir practice scheduled in a few minutes. I think you may enjoy listening."


	74. Blossom of Magic

**Blossom of Magic**

The bench was hard and uncomfortable, but the dim rays of blue and red light that filtered through the stained glass windows captivated her attention. Although the cathedral was a structure of stone, the secret of its architecture was the interplay of shadow and light: the sunlight as it lit the scenes in the colourful windows, the shadows obscuring the height of the arcs that carried the nave and the aisles, the flickering lights of the candles lit to carry a prayer to aloft, the darkness that lurked behind the vast columns.

Severus was right; shortly after they sat down, a boys' choir began a rehearsal. The song of bright young voices drifted through the high halls of the church and tugged at Hermione's heart. She didn't understand the words, nor did she need to. What else would they be singing but a prayer or a psalm?Again Hermione experienced a pang of regret, an odd, forlorn ache. She felt like a stranger here, out of place. Because she was a witch? Was that the true reason her mother had stopped going to church with her? Without her parents to anchor her to it, Hermione realised, the Muggle world was slipping from her grasp, faster and faster.

But why should that make her sad? She had her own world. And her own … well, she supposed that you _could_ call a husband _'family'_. Or at least the nucleus of a family.

Suddenly she wished that she could find it in her heart to pray. She had _so much_ to pray for. Hermione glanced at her husband. The twilight softened the harsh lines of his face. Why had Severus brought her here? She wasn't surprised when he noticed her gaze. But the understanding she saw in his dark eyes took her unawares. Quickly, Hermione closed her eyes to keep silly tears from spilling.

A hand touched her fingers, slipped under her palm, dry and cool and strong. Fingers curled around her hand and held it in a careful grip, as always mindful of the hypersensitivity his blood had left her with.

**oooOooo **

"The cathedral of Chartres is also renowned for its labyrinth," Severus murmured, as he led her back to the entrance of the cathedral. He pointed to the floor at their feet. " It was integrated in the design of the cathedral from the beginning, and is one of the finest labyrinths to be found in the cathedrals of the western world. Some say it reflects the symbol of the _'flower of life'_ – God at the centre, the world and the universe spiralling outwards. In the wizarding world the same symbol is known as the _'blossom of magic'_. For ages the labyrinth has meant a symbolic pilgrimage. You walk its paths in the hope of ascending toward salvation or enlightenment."

Hermione stared at the white and black stone at her feet.

"The white stone comes from the quarries of Berchères, the black from Senlis. The diameter –"

"Do you believe in God?" she asked suddenly.

Severus paused, but didn't reprimand her for her interruption. Instead he considered her question.

"No," he replied at last. "At one time, I might have _wanted_ to believe in a God. But that was long ago. Now …" He shook his head. "There is a Muggle who wrote a few lines about this cathedral. He is quoted in most travel guides. Orson Welles.  
_"A fact of life … we're going to die. _'Be of good heart,'_ cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced – but what of it? Go on singing. Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much," _Severus quoted. "Don't forget that there is a world out here, Hermione. A whole world for you to see. And you _belong _to _this_ world, too."

"And how about you?"

Severus sighed and shook his head, refusing to answer her question.

"Come," he said at last and held out his hand to her. "Will you walk to the centre with me?"

**oooOooo **

They had just reached the centre of the labyrinth when a tiny old man in the black robes of a priest came hurrying towards them.

"Ah, it is you!" the priest smiled up at Snape. "I thought I 'ad 'eard your voice. It 'as been a long time."

Severus inclined his head. "Yes. I was busy. And then I was … sick, for a while.

"Abbé Rigaud, may I present my wife, Mrs. Hermione Snape?"

The old man beamed at her and held out his wrinkled hand. "_Enchanté, madame!_ Absolon Rigaud is my name, and I am delighted to meet you."

When she shook his hand, the priest covered her hand with his. Then he reached for Snape's hand, and although Severus looked extremely discomfited at the touch, he allowed the old man to take it. Abbé Rigaud's faint smile told Hermione that he was aware of how uncomfortable that gesture made her husband.

"May the love that brought you together grow and mature with each passing year. May it bring you both ever closer to the Lord through your love for each other. Let your love grow to perfection," the priest intoned as he brought their hands together, joined them and covered them with his own. "The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The Lord make 'is face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up 'is countenance upon thee, and give thee peace."

"Thank you, father," Hermione whispered.

Severus wordlessly inclined his head.

"I am afraid, young man, that this will be the last time we meet," Abbé Rigaud said in his wheezy old man's voice, his accent more pronounced than before. "It is time for me to find my way to the 'eart of the labyrinth." He turned to Hermione and smiled. "Madam, I don't think you know 'ow much joy it brings to my 'eart to know that my friend 'as found you. 'e 'as been alone for far too long."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:**

**about the problem of "hands in your pockets" - **That's one of those ideas that show that I'm a) old and b) European. At least that's what I was taught - no slouching in church, no chewing gum, no picking your nose, and "don't put your hands into your pockets". Oh, and curiously enough those manners were drilled into me by an atheist. Concerning Snape - I think he's simply a stickler for rules and good manners. Additionally it's a big step for him to bring Hermione to this place, so he's a bit on edge.

**labyrinths **- mazes have always been regarded as places of power and introspection and they have always been important in mythology and religion. Information about mazes, including the labyrinth of Chartres may be found at **mymaze** DOT **de **SLASH **home** UNDERSCORE **e** DOT **htm**

The _"blossom of magic"_ is my own invention, but I think it matches the Pagan interpretation of the concept of mazes. The six petal rose at the centre of the Chartres labyrinth is an ancient alchemical symbol, by the way, which might add to its appeal for Snape.

**the blessing** - The blessing is a mixture of a Catholic wedding blessing I found online at the The Catholic Doors Ministry and the Aaronitic blessing.

**the quote **- The Orson Welles quote is from his last movie "F for Fake".

**for thoughts about "WTF are they doing in a cathedral of all places"** - have a look at my forums. You can find the link there at the top of my profile page.


	75. Discoveries

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Discoveries **

"Why come here?" Hermione asked later. "If you don't believe in God? I'm sorry –" Severus raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"I don't mean to _pry_," she stated firmly. They were sitting in front of a small bistro with a splendid view of the square and the cathedral. "But this," she gestured, "this is so very unlike you – well, unlike the Severus Snape I'm used to, anyway, that – well, I keep wondering who you are."

When he drew his wand and flicked it underneath the table to create a _Muffliato_ screen, Hermione knew that whatever Severus' reply would turn out to be, it wouldn't be a comfortable answer. She creased her forehead. What was this all about? Showing her that she had no idea who he was? Or – she amended – that she only knew small parts of who he was?

"Years ago my … masters determined that I ought to be able to accomplish cross-channel and cross-continental Apparition. While I had the determination, the concentration and the power to obey their wishes even then, I lacked practice.  
"Travel guides tend to include good pictures of famous cathedrals. And plain Muggle photographs are an excellent source for the visualization of your destination. Better than wizarding pictures, in fact, because movement distracts the focus of your mind.  
"It was pure chance that I ended up here."  
He shrugged. "I'm not in a position to say if it was chance or fate that I met Abbé Rigaud when I did. Or that he saw – that he noticed –"

Severus' eyes grew so bleak that it was impossible for Hermione to distinguish between his pupils and his iris.

"He listened to me when no one else would," Severus went on in a brittle voice. "He offered me the forgiveness of his God at a time when –"  
He shook his head and changed the subject. "I thought you might enjoy the blue windows. – Blue is your favourite colour, isn't it? You never wear it, because it doesn't suit you. But you keep that blue vase on your window sill, and a blue bowl with potpourri on the other nightstand."

Hermione nodded. She was surprised that he noticed such things. But of course Severus had been a spy for the better part of his adult life; it was probably second nature to him to be aware of such details.

"Yes," she replied. She was acutely aware of the many things in his past she wasn't ready to know about. It shamed her that she didn't feel able to handle all of it, all of him. So Hermione did the next best thing: she let the topic go and followed his lead in this conversation. "The vase is actually a souvenir. From a holiday I spent in France with my parents."

"You sent a postcard to Minerva. The summer after the Chamber of Secrets was opened."

"It feels so strange," Hermione said in a small voice. "I remember that holiday. I really do. But it feels so distant … as if it never happened, or as if it happened to somebody else."

**oooOooo **

Sunday morning Alina was in a state of hysterics.

The Slytherins had spent all of Saturday searching their House. They had discovered a many things – among them a trapdoor to a secret tunnel, a junk room that no one had ever noticed before, filled with all kinds of curious clutter, and what looked like a torture chamber, complete with shackles hanging from the walls and a real rack, but no Crookshanks.

Ciardha Vaisey was a smart young man. He knew when he was beat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he told the dejected and exhausted Slytherins loitering in the common room. "There's no choice. We need help. And we don't need just _any_ kind of help.

"We need the help of Gryffindor House.

"The cat of Madam Snape spent most his years here at Hogwarts in Gryffindor House. It stands to reason that he either went there to hide, or that they know where he might be found."

He turned to Alina and fixed her with a steely gaze. Alina shivered. She knew that he would be polite to her outside Slytherin House. But there would be hell to pay later. And she rather suspected her punishment would involve the newly discovered torture chamber.

"Alina, you accompany me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, her stomach queasy.

It would have been better if she had died in the debris of Dumbledore's tomb.

**oooOooo **

The students of Gryffindor House devoted their Sunday morning to turning their House upside down – in vain.

Then Headgirl Ginny Weasley met with emissaries from Slytherin House on neutral ground (the Trophy Room).

"I don't think you need to worry about Professor Snape," she told Ciardha Vaisey. "I don't think he even _likes_ Crooks. However, I'd really hate for Hermione to come home to bad news about her pet."

Ciardha just shook his head at the Gryffindor's ignorance. "That cat is as much a Slytherin now as Madam Snape. We'd better find him. Or I fear Slytherin House will be in detention until Alina graduates.

"We need to call all Houses. This is an unprecedented emergency."

**oooOoooo **

In the end it was a Hufflepuff who found Crookshanks.

Johannes Flamel (one of the would-be knights of Dumbledore's Army) had missed the fun of an emergency meeting consisting of all four Houses because he'd been in detention with Filch. He simply appeared at tea time in the Great Hall, the big ginger tomcat in his arms.

"OH MY GOD!" Alina screamed and raced towards him. "CROOKS! Joe, wherever did you FIND him?? "

Johannes, astounded to find himself at the centre of a rapidly growing crowd of students from all four Houses, shrugged.

"I didn't find him, precisely. He showed up in Filch's office, and the old git threw a fit about a strange cat invading his quarters." He rolled his eyes. "He's Miss – Madam Snape's cat, isn't he? How did he get out of Slytherin House?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **Abbé Absolon - Absolon means "my Father is peace". I expect Snape never told him any facts (the priest would never have believed them, propbably, and it would have been too dangerous), but sometimes you find special people at the right times in life who simply _understand_. I believe Snape must have had some support somewhere at some point, or he would have cracked under the pressure.


	76. Due Punishment

**Due Punishment**

"A word with you, Mr. Vaisey?"

As Ginny approached the Seventh Year Prefect of Slytherin House, she wondered just how the custom of formal address among the Seventh Year students had developed. She suspected it had something to do with the accelerated Seventh Years who had taken their NEWTs just before Christmas. Only a handful of the original students of that year had returned to Hogwarts, all of them changed by the war. Formal address had eased things along between them, and somehow the regular Seventh Years had picked up that habit.

"Yes, _Headgirl _Weasley?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. What was it with Slytherins and their sneers?

"_Prefect Vaisey_, I request a moment of your precious time. In the Trophy Room, if you please."

**oooOooo **

The moment they entered the Trophy Room, Ginny Weasley got down to business. "Prefect Vaisey, I assume you are planning to punish Miss Petrel for her negligence concerning Madam Snape's cat. When you mete out that punishment, I shall be present."

"What?" he stared at her, taken aback. Regaining his composure, Vaisey replied smoothly, "Headgirl Weasly, I believe according to school regulations that is none of your busines."

Weasley wasn't impressed. "School regulations, humbug. Vaisey, Alina is Hermione's friend. She's the daugher of my brother's girlfriend. I am _making_ this my business. You have a choice. Either I'll be present when you punish Alina, _or_ I'll take the whole matter to your Head of House. Imagine how _pleased_ Professor Snape will be when we bother him with this."

Vaisey sighed. This was certainly not a good weekend for Slytherin House. To be at the mercy of the other Houses not once, but three times in one day was degrading.

"Very well. Here's what we will do …"

**oooOooo **

"… that's a … quite educational punishment, Mr. Vaisey." Ginny narrowed her eyes at the brown-haired Slytherin. Vaisey smirked, a subtle sparkle in his pale green eyes.

"Miss Petrel promises to grow into a powerful witch. She needs to learn not to let things … slip from her grasp, or to lose control," he explained. "It's actually a modified version of an exercise I've been conducting with my Third Year DADA study-group. As such it was approved by Professor Weasley."

Vaisey smirked at the Headgirl's confusion. Confusion that turned into a frown.

"Vaisey? Am I imagining things, or do you actually _care_ about her? Do you realise that Alina is a CHILD?"

Cold anger surged through Vaisey. Why did the other Houses always expect the very worst of Slytherin? He clenched his teeth. But of course he knew why. He forced himself to provide a polite answer.

"Yes, I most certainly _do _realise that, Headgirl Weasley. Contrary to popular assumptions, the customs of Slytherin House are not that depraved." He didn't know what prompted him, but he added in a moment of rare boldness, "I am very much aware that Miss Petrel is a child _now_. However, it should prove interesting to meet her again, say, eight or ten years from now."

Weasley's frown deepened, but she didn't comment.

"Very well," Vaisey said wearily. "I shall expect you at the entrance of Slytherin House tonight at ten o'clock."

**oooOooo **

Alina was almost petrified with fear as she stepped into the torture chamber. As she had suspected, the prefects of her House had decided that her punishment would serve as an inauguration ceremony for the newly discovered room.

All six prefects of Slytherin House were present. And – a wave of such intense relief flooded Alina that her knees went quite weak – Headgirl Ginny Weasley. But Ginny's arms were crossed in front of her chest, and her face was cold. Alina realised that Ginny was not there to prevent her punishment.

"Alina Petrel," Prefect Vaisey commanded. "Tell us why you are here."

"I – I – have – been negligent with m– my duties. A– and because of that – I have brought shame to m– my House. I'm sorry, sir. I'm really, really sorry!"

She wanted to say that she still didn't understand how Crookshanks could have escaped from her room, but she knew that didn't matter. He had escaped, and the subsequent collaboration with the other Houses had cost Slytherin pride dearly. They would be the butt of school-jokes for months.

"I deserve to be punished," she added in a small voice. "I'm here to request my punishment."

"Very well," Vaisey said. "Step in front of that wall."

He pointed to the wall where the heavy chains with shackles and manacles were set into the stones. Trembling, Alina obeyed.

"Wand out!" Vaisey commanded.

That surprised Alina, but she pulled her wand out of her sleeve.

Then everything happened at once.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ shouted Fifth Year prefect Angela Sutron, and Alina's wand flew from her hand.

_"Compedio!"_ cried Sixth Year prefect Graham Pritchard. Shackles snapped around her ankles, chaining her to the wall.

_"Pulta!"_ ordered Vaisey. Alina's wand rose into the air and raced towards her.

Then the beating started.

**oooOooo **

"Alina? Are you okay?" Geilis' worried voice penetrated the warm shelter of her blankets. "Alina? Please, talk to me! Or – or – I'll call Mrs. Snape!"

"No!" Alina shot up and instantly winced with pain. "Don't you dare!" She glared at Geilis with her left eye, as the right one was rather spectacularly blackened.

"OH MERLIN, Alina! You're bruised all over! Does it hurt very badly?"

Alina forced herself to face her friend and stiffly shook her head. "It's really not as bad as it looks. What's worse is the disgrace of it all. Gilly, they had me wandless and shackled in a _second_! And then they made my OWN wand wallop me. I had to catch it, and break the power of the Charm with my willpower. Not with a spell. Just with the power of my mind." Tears of humiliation burned in Alina's eyes. "Obviously FLOBBERWORMS have more willpower than I do."

"You can't leave the dorm looking like that," Geilis told her. "Look, how about I get a jar of bruise balm for you?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** _"compedio"_ - means "I put on shackles (on someone)". _"Pulta!"_ means "wallop!/flog!".

To clarify - I do not approve of cruel treatment or corporal punishment. However, I _do_ think that there is a reason why Slytherin House has a certain reputation. The method of punishment I described in this chapter is meant to describe a harsh tradition of "honour", "pride" and "discipline" above all else.

Concerning the story: You need to keep in mind that Alina would know that this form of punishment is basically an exercise that Third Year students do in their DADA study group. Furthermore, the female prefects will see to it that Alina is completely healed and without pain in the morning. And last but not least, that form of punishment will never work on Alina that way again, because she has learnt the trick of how to capture and control her wand now. How Snape will react when the matter is brought to his attention will be dealt with in another chapter.


	77. Sleepbringer

**Sleepbringer**

The sweet, low sound of a bell alerted Snape to the fact that something was amiss in the Slytherin Common Room. That, and the incredible wave of fatigue that suddenly swept over him and almost flattened him snoring to the ground where he stood. He blinked convulsively as a huge, undignified yawn split his face.

Snape shook himself. Something was going on. The very air of the dungeons tasted suddenly of Dark Magic. Of ancient, very dark magic. Another yawn made tears leak out of the corners of his eyes. He scowled, fumbled with clumsy hands for a phial of Invigoration Draught and downed it quickly.

Then he gripped his wand and strode towards the common room of Slytherin House.

**oooOooo **

Once inside Snape was greeted by scene of rare peacefulness. Just before dinner, the common room was packed and normally quite a rowdy , however, silence reigned lifeless bodies of students lay on the ground or slumped motionless over tables and in their chairs. Only Alina Petrel was standing in the middle of the room, her right arm raised, a tiny silver bell clasped in her hand, her dark eyes wild with fright.

Icy shock flashed through Snape. He fell to his knees next to Geilis Duncan and pressed his fingertips against her throat, held the inner side of his wrist in front of her half-opened mouth. After one of the longest moments of his life, a deep sigh of relief escaped him. He drew himself up and willed the frantic beating of his heart to slow down.

Miss Duncan was merely asleep.

A quick investigation assured him that indeed all of the students who had collapsed in the Slytherin common room had merely fallen asleep wherever they had been standing and whatever they had been doing.

With one notable exception.

"MISS PETREL," Snape roared. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

**oooOooo **

"What did you put in there?" Severus's voice was so hoarse that his words were barely audible when he eyed the steaming cup with obvious misgivings.

The line between his brows cut deeper than normally.

"A pinch of slippery elm bark, some wild cherry bark, cardamom, clove and a spoon of finely chopped liquorice root. Blended with Assam. With hot milk and honey," Hermione explained patiently. "And I'm not trying to poison you. It's one of Professor Sprout's recipes. Neville says it's going to help you."

"I am supposed to find something that _Longbottom _said reassuring?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "This is his area of expertise, Severus. It's a herbal tea. Not a potion."

"Hmpf." But Severus picked up his tea and took a careful sip. Then another. And another. For a long while they sat together in silence, simply drinking their tea. After a day spent in boisterous classrooms, the quiet of their quarters was very welcome indeed.

"So what did Alina do this time?"

Severus drew up his eyebrows and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It seems that the Room of Requirement has seen it fit to give Miss Petrel a present during our wedding reception," he rasped.

Yelling at Alina had taken a lot out of his voice. Hermione frowned worriedly. Whatever the room had give Alina must be very dangerous for Severus to be in such a state. A moment later, her suspicions were confirmed.

"The damn Room dumped the tool of a Necromancer into the girl's lap," Severus went on. "And instead of bringing it to me for inspection, the little idiot simply tried it out right there in the common room."

"Alina rang a Necromancer's bell?" Hermione gasped with shock.

Necromancy wasn't taught at Hogwarts, but it was part of the Ninth Year curriculum at Durmstrang and of Auror Training in Britain.

"Why am I not surprised that you know about necromancy?" Snape asked wearily.

"_Err…_ probably because you know me too well?" She bit down on her lower lip. "Harry did a course a while ago. It's part of his Auror Training, apparently. And you know that Harry's interested in everything to do with the Deathly Hallows, because – well, because of what happened during the battle. And now that the Elder Wand may have been stolen ..." Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. "I – _uh_ – I may have persuaded Harry to share some of his course-materials with me."

"Hermione, have you learned nothing at all from the last years?" Severus held up his hand to still her hurt protest before she even opened her mouth. "Forgive me. I didn't mean it like that. But you do need to promise something to me now, Hermione.

"_Promise_ me that you will come to me with whatever you wish to learn. I will teach you enough to satisfy your curiosity. But please, _promise_ me that you will never touch any of the Dark Arts on your own. Promise me, Hermione. If you value the integrity of your soul, promise that to me."

His eyes bored into her with frightening intensity. She swallowed drily.

"I promise," she said at last. "About today … what kind of bell was it? And you could wake everyone, right?"

"It was the bell traditionally called _'Ranna'_. The first and smallest of the seven bells that a Necromancer wields," Severus explained. "She is also called _'somnifer'_ or _'sleepbringer'_, as that is her power – to bring silence and sleep. Including _eternal_ slumber."

"Oh shit," Hermione cursed softly.

"Indeed."

"What did you do?"

"After I screamed at Miss Petrel in a way fit to wake the dead right there and then without the help of any bells and brought the Bloody Baron breathing down my neck?" Severus rotated tense shoulders. When he looked at Hermione again, his eyes were dark with regret.

"I woke them," he said simply. "And then I gave Miss Petrel detention until the end of the term."

Her heart seemed to freeze inside her. Hermione shuddered convulsively.

_"I woke them." _

Once again her whole world had changed from one second to the next.

_Her husband was a necromancer. _

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The bell 'Ranna' along with that particular concept of Necromancy is taken from the "Abhorsen"-trilogy by Garth Nix._"Somnifer"_ I made up. It's simply Latin for "Sleepbringer".

**ETA:** Since the publication of "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" the terms Necromancer and Necromancy are also canon for the HP series.


	78. How Can You Still Touch Me?

**How Can You Still Touch Me? **

Severus put down his mug. His fingers strayed to his forehead again. Hermione hated to see him so weary and worried. She almost winced with embarrassment, when she realised that she had likely added to his load yet again with her selfish quest for dangerous knowledge.

Hermione rose to her feet and quietly moved behind him. She reached for his head and drew it gently against the back of the chair. She hesitated a moment. Then she gingerly smoothed back his hair and began to massage his head. Severus inhaled sharply and stiffened. But when she didn't react, and only kept rubbing his head and temples with careful, light movements, he exhaled deeply. After a while she could feel how he relaxed under the delicate circles her fingertips were drawing on his skull.

To her surprise, Severus' hair wasn't all that greasy. It _was_ slick and lank, but most of all it was very, very fine, almost feathery, and so black that it shone with blue highlights as she parted it with her fingers. Hermione decided she rather liked feeling him like that, the curve of his skull, those fine strands. The slow rhythm of the massage also soothed the frantic circuits of thoughts and worries in her mind and calmed her racing heart.

Her fingers caressed his temples and smoothed his forehead. Would he mind if she bent down and kissed him? But suddenly Severus reached up and captured her hands. He drew her down towards him until she was sitting on the right-hand armrest. But to her surprise that position still didn't satisfy him. Only when her head was resting on his shoulder, he appeared content. Now his fingers found their way into her hair, tenderly tracing her temple, the curve of her ear, down her neck, stroking her, almost meditatively curling and uncurling her hair. Each touch made her skin tingle and her stomach tighten. But she kept still and didn't demand more than he would give her. The moment was too precious.

Abruptly he stilled the movement of his hand.

"Gryffindors," he murmured. "I'll never understand them. How can you still touch me, Hermione? Now that you know? How can you stand to let me touch you?"

She sighed. "As I understand necromancy you cannot really learn all that much about it. It is rather a very special talent. Like being a Metamorphmagus. Either you're born that way or not."

Hermione drew back so she could face Severus. The bleak look in his eyes wrenched her heart. She would rather see him smirk and sneer than witness such misery. She studied his face, so carefully devoid expression. Only the absolute blackness of his eyes betrayed the depth of his despair.

Her heart skipped a beat when realisation struck her. Severus was _allowing _ her to see beyond his ever-present armour of sarcasm and scorn. He trusted her with his despair.

She sighed deeply and reached for his hands. She curled her fingers around his hands and held them as tightly as she could. The touch was almost painful. She met his eyes without flinching.

"Why should it change anything?"

She shifted her position and leant over, until her lips hovered over his. She allowed herself to sink into his fathomless gaze and kissed him.

At first she just brushed over his thin, cool lips. Her touch grew firmer. She teased and stroked until he parted his lips and allowed her inside. Her tongue slid into his mouth. The hard, smooth edge of his teeth. Warm wetness. Touch of tongue. Taste of tenderness. She twined her tongue around his, trailed along the sides, delved below … and at last had to come up for air with a gasp.

She could feel him against the side of her thigh, hard, pulsing even through the fabric of his trousers. But when she made to reach for him, he stopped her.

"Much as I desire you," Severus murmured. "This is not the right time."

He drew a shaky breath. "I think I am … aware now that you …"

"That I'm still willing to touch you? To be touched by you?" Hermione provided, grateful to see that the despair had faded from his eyes. Instead his expression wavered between amazement and exasperation.

"That much is obvious even to an old fool such as I am," he said and tightened his embrace.

"May I see the bell?"

Severus started and pushed her away a little, so he could look at her face. His hair surrounded his face in a dishevelled black halo. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed. Even his lips had gained some colour from the fierceness of her kisses.

"If you think you can … what is it that your contemporaries deign to call this again?" He faked a thoughtful expression, trailing his mouth with the tip of his right index-finger, while keeping a firm hold of her back with his left hand. "… if you think you can, as they say, _'snog me senseless'_ in order to lure me into inappropriate concessions, you are sorely mistaken, Hermione."

"If that's what you think this was about, then –" Hermione started indignantly.

"Hush," he murmured. "I know it was not, silly. It seems I still need to adapt to your straightforward style of conversation." Severus sighed. "To answer your question: I don't have the bell. I ensured that it will remain silent, that it doesn't pose a danger to anyone at the moment. Then I returned it to Alina."

Hermione frowned. "But why did you do that? If it's that dangerous …"

"As you very correctly observed, necromancy is tied to blood. The Room of Requirement could give that bell to Alina only because it is tied to her blood. While I _could_ wield it if I must, it is not my place to do so."

"But –" Hermione's mind was reeling with the consequences that calm statement entailed. "But," she whispered, "that would mean Alina's father was at Hogwarts once!"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** I hope that answers some questions about how I interpret Garth Nix' concept of necromancy from his "Abhorsen"-trilogy for this story.

The basic idea is that while everyone can learn some kind of death magic (as we all know from canon), there are only a very few Necromancers who have magical powers even in the Realm of Death (and yes, that's a hint about what else is going to happen). Of Necromancers there are two kinds, those who raise the dead and demonic beings, and those who bind and banish them. Severus belongs to the latter kind (obviously - or what do you think Voldemort would have had him do?). I think that this twist explains why Voldemort accepted Severus' return to his side so easily. Necromancy is regarded as evil magic. Period. And Voldemort would have wanted both to exploit Severus' talents and to keep an eye on him at the same time. Against Voldemort himself Severus' talents were useless because of the Horcruxes. I hope my line of thought makes sense. More or less at least.


	79. Mistakes and Consequences

**Mistakes and Consequences **

"Ginny, what's wrong?" Hermione's week had been trying to put things mildly.

The incident with the bell on Wednesday had left Slytherin House in a turmoil. Her husband's temper had been horrible since then, although he had taken pains to be civil with her.

Alina in particular was completely rattled, not that anyone could blame her. But discovering just how terrifying it could be to have a jumpy and unfocused First Year in a Potions classroom had not been a good experience. Hermione simply didn't understand. Of course it had been a shocking discovery for Alina, but normally Hermione would have expected the girl to react differently – to take the revelation of a special talent in stride, even if it was such a dangerous ability as Necromancy. Furthermore, Hermione knew that Severus had been quite lenient with Alina; he had not even detracted House points for that mishap and merely given her detentions so she could learn just how dangerous the situation had been.

And now Ginny was moping over her tea with an expression better suited for a funeral than for a comfortable Saturday evening spent with a good friend. Ginny grimaced and continued to stir her tea in morose silence.

"Ginny. Please. Tell me what's wrong. I've been having a hard week. I can't take this silent sulking another second."

"What's been going on?" Ginny asked, fidgeting in obvious discomfort. "_Uhh…_ you would tell me if you were _uh…_ angry at me, wouldn't you?"

Hermione stared at her friend. A headache was beginning to throb at her temples. She inhaled deeply and forced herself to remain patient.

"Why," she asked carefully, "should I be angry at you?"

"Well –" Ginny stammered. "I – actually – the whole school, I guess, couldn't help noticing – well … Professor Snape has been in a rare mood this week, and all of the Slytherins have been kind of tense and jumpy."

"Yes, I guess that's true. But pardon my confusion," Hermione frowned,"what has that to do with you?"

"I'm afraid that I've made a horrible, horrible mistake. And I've promised not to tell anyone about it, but –"

"If you have promised not to tell anyone about it, Ginny, then why are you talking to me now?"

Ginny took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on her mug. "Because I can't stand seeing Alina so scared and – and – confused – and it's all my fault."

"How is that _your_ fault?" Hermione wanted to groan. They had tried to keep the incident from getting out. But apparently there was no way to keep _anything _at Hogwarts a secret.

"Well," the words rushed out of Ginny's mouth, "because I knew about the punishment and I was there and I did nothing to stop it and I should have gone to Professor Snape right away or to Professor McGonagall, but I wanted so badly to show the Slytherins that we _can_ respect them and … and …" Ginny's voice faded to a despairing whisper. "And all I did was let Alina down."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Ginevra Weasley," she said, her tone threatening. "What are you talking about? I suggest you start at the beginning and leave nothing out."

**oooOooo **

"They did _what?_"

Hermione was almost grateful to see how shocked her husband appeared. After listening to Ginny, Hermione hadn't been completely sure how Severus would react. From what Ginny had told her, the way Alina's punishment had been doled out – with the miscreant being forced to actually _ask_ for the punishment and the manner of the punishment both physical and painful – was true to the most ancient Slytherin traditions.

"They charmed Alina's wand to beat her up," Hermione repeated. "Apparently the Prefects came to the conclusion that Crookshanks' escape and the disgrace of having to ask the other Houses for help was all Alina's fault and that she deserved to be punished for her negligence.  
"Ginny guessed that they would do something to Alina and blackmailed Vaisey into including her in the proceedings, so she could keep things from getting out of hand.  
"They used an exercise that Professor Weasley introduced for his Third Years this term. An exercise to get the students to react quicker to _Expelliarmus_ and other wand-affecting curses. I'm not sure why they used the shackles," Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, "maybe simply because they were there."

"Severus, I never told her not to let Crookshanks outside!" she pleaded. "You were there, I only asked her to _watch_ him!"

Severus stared at her wordlessly. A vein was beginning throb at his temple, betraying just how angry he was.

_"Bloody fucking hell,"_ he ground out between clenched teeth. "The moment you turn your back on those little snakes, they bite where it hurts the most. Damn, and damn, and _damn_ again." He balled his right hand into a fist and beat it soundly on the table, fury and frustration flashing in his eyes. Then he slumped down in his chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. At last Severus took a deep breath. To watch him regain some measure of control was like seeing him slip on a mask, a harsh and expressionless mask that hid his real feelings completely.

"Hermione –" His voice was very serious as he implored her. "You must believe me when I tell you that I do _not _approve of this.  
"In-House punishment – punishment administered by Prefects and older students – has a long tradition in Slytherin House."

_"Everything for honour,"_ he spat bitterly. "And everything that occurs inside Slytherin House stays inside Slytherin House. You have no _idea_ how some Slytherin families treat their children. _Their own children._"

He rose to his feet. "Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. Now I must go and discuss this incident with the Headmistress." A pause. "Hermione, I hope you are aware of the fact that there will be disciplinary consequences for Miss Weasley as well."

Only when Hermione nodded, Severus spun on his heel and exited the room.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** To reiterate - I do not approve of cruel treatment of children or corporal punishment. Just because I write something, that doesn't mean I support it in real life.

However, I most certainly do think that Alina's punishment fits pureblood Slytherin traditions very well - think Dudley's Smeltings including the sticks, only with magic on top, mix in "tradition, honour, discipline, excellence" from Dead Poets Society and stir. Now I personally think that Severus never approved of "private" punishment inside Slytherin House. I imagine that he had to endure enough of it himself, when he was unwilling or unable to stand up to certain Gryffindors as a boy. Also - while I don't see Slytherins as evil (that should be obvious by now), I can't depict them as fluffy pink puffskeins. They are not. I also see many of them as coming from dysfunctional families who have been raised on propaganda and abuse, a background that inevitably leads to problems.

I believe that Snape would have given his prefects explicit instructions on what kind of punishment is appropriate for their own Slytherins and that he would have insisted on them getting his permission if they wanted to do anything "original". He never hoped that they would _understand_ that certain kinds of punishment are simply wrong. But he _was_ sure they would at least obey his orders. However, as teenagers are wont to do, in the unusual situation they were in (faced with a WIFE of their Head of House, the shame of having to ask Gryffindors for help and the thrill of having discovered a real honest-to-goodness torture chamber), they got simply carried away.


	80. Few and Far Between

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Few and Far Between  
**

"Alina is a _what_?" Lois stared at Hermione, her dark-brown eyes wide and shocked.

Snape was struck by how much like her daughter Lois looked. Alina seemed to get her looks wholly from her mother … and her talents just as completely from her elusive father.

It had been decided to keep the incident with the bell quiet, but of course Alina's mother had to be informed.

Right now tea was growing cold in their cups and the warm sunshine of the afternoon was overshadowed by the topic of their conversation. Severus glanced at Hermione, who had unobtrusively taken Lois' hand in a gesture of physical reassurance. Uncomfortable as this conversation was going to be, he was grateful that his wife was present. Her friendship with Lois would ease the difficult discussion considerably.

_"A Necromancer._  
"A Necromancer is someone who has a special affinity for Death Magic. Necromancers are able to enter the Realm of Death. They have the power to raise beings and persons from the outer precincts of Death or to bind and banish them into Death, usually by wielding seven magical bells. It is an innate magical talent," Severus explained. "While all wizards can learn certain necromantic spells, only a Necromancer has power in the Realm Death. There are two kinds of Necromancers – those with the power to raise the dead, and those with the power to bind them. At the moment we cannot be sure yet which of these powers Alina will develop. Time will tell."

Severus noticed the bright gleam in his wife's eyes that betrayed how questions and connections formed lightning-quick in their brown warmth. The conversation with Lois Petrel would likely not remain the only uncomfortable discussion that day.

He took a deep breath and went on, "Alina will need to be taught how to control her powers, and eventually she will need to be registered as a Necromancer with the Ministry of Magic. Lois – I cannot make light of this. Necromancy is an extremely dark and dangerous talent. It might be very helpful if we knew who Alina's father was."

"Oh God," Lois whispered. "But I can't tell you. I explained it to Headmistress McGonagall when she first came to visit me. He told me his name was Prosper Reagan. But that was not his real name …" She went on to outline the circumstances of Alina's birth. When she had finished, the room was quiet for a long moment.

Snape had expected some sad and sordid story, of course. But this subtle and unconscionable exploitation of a young girl's infatuation left him unexpectedly sickened.

"Maybe he modified her memory?" Hermione suggested.

Severus shook his head. "I doubt it. From what Lois describes, he cast spells only on himself, not on her or any other Muggles. Very clever." Turning to Lois, he explained, "If he had used magic on you directly, our authorities would have been alerted sooner or later. Or at the very least we could use magic on you now to reveal his identity. I would still ask you to let us try. If your memory has been tampered with, we should be able to detect the intrusion and possibly rectify it. But as I said, I doubt it.  
"Now – I have secured Alina's bell. She will not be able to ring it again, not by choice or by accident. For the time being, I don't think that the Necromancy will have any impact on her development or her education."

Severus straightened and his mouth thinned.

"Unfortunately, there is another unpleasant matter we need to discuss today," he announced wearily. "I have to inform you that students from her own House decided to _'punish'_ Alina for a trivial negligence in an inappropriate and unsanctioned way, and – as I might add – against my _explicit _instructions concerning such matters. I regret that something like that could happen in Slytherin House at this point in time and I can assure you that the offenders have been dealt with to the full extent of my disciplinary competences."

**oooOooo **

"… I see," Lois said. "What has been done?"

"The Prefects have been stripped of their privileges. For the rest of the term the Prefects of the Houses Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will take over their duties. Any point the relevant students ever earned for their House has been subtracted, bringing the sum of House points for Slytherin House down to zero for the rest of the term. Ginevra Weasley lost 100 House points and _'won'_ weekly detentions until graduation."

"I see," Lois repeated.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. Lois would never _truly_ understand. How could she?

Slytherin House was in a state of hysteria, the rest of Hogwarts was little better. No one had ever known Professor Snape to subtract more than a grudging handful of points from his own students – no matter _what_ they did. The episode with the emerald that had been broken to take away a mere ¼ point from Slytherin House was the stuff of legends.

And now the _Head of Slytherin House_ had eliminated any chance of his _own_ House at winning the coveted House Cup?

The shock was so profound that there was almost no gloating directed at the Slytherin misfortune.

"Is it possible that I talk with Alina alone?" Lois asked.

Severus nodded curtly. "Of course. I will go and get her."

**oooOooo **

"I'm so sorry, Lois."

Her friend stared at her, the effort it cost her to keep calm visible on her face and in her tense posture.

"It's not your fault, Hermione. Or even Severus' fault. He didn't create those Slytherin traditions. And I am sure he did his best to curb them. "There are bullies at every school. Do you think I don't know that? I've been treating the victims of bullies in my therapy sessions for years! And trust me, teachers like Severus, who _admit_ that something went wrong, who don't just look the other way and pretend that everything is all right, are few and far between."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Lois, of course, has never seen Snape as the dreaded bat of the dungeons. She knows him as her patient, a difficult, but interesting man she respects and as the husband of a friend ... and as the favourite teacher of her daughter. While she's certainly not happy with what has happened, she's not likely to blame the Ex-Death-Eater. Conversely, I doubt that a parent would have been informed of the incident under ordinary circumstances. However, due to the developing friendship between Severus and Lois and of course because of Hermione, I do believe that Severus would address the issue.

The punishment for his Prefects is a result of Severus' discussion with the Headmistress, btw. If you don't understand at the moment why Severus and Minerva react so harshly, please read the next chapter before complaining - I think it will make sense then.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	81. And the Worst Thing is …

**And the Worst Thing is … **

When Severus returned with a pale Alina in tow, Hermione had made her excuses and buried herself in her work. After grading a pile of essays from her First Years she had turned to a fat tome about advanced Herbology. But she found it nearly impossible to concentrate. Recent events weighed heavy on her mind. Heavy enough for her to develop a tension headache that had not abated for a minute during the last two days.

A knock on the portrait made her jump.

"Hermione?" Lois' muffled voice drifted up from the main dungeons corridor.

"Coming." Hermione hurried down the hallway and down the stairs. Slightly out of breath, she swung open the portrait. Lois looked tired and worried.

"Have you talked to Alina?"

"Yes," Lois said. "I just left her at the entrance of her House. And I thought I'd drop by on my way back. – Ron's going to come over and pick me up in a bit. If you don't mind, I'd rather wait here with you."

"No, of course not. Come in. I think both of us could use some more tea. Rooibos?"

Her friend nodded gratefully.

**oooOooo **

A short time later Lois and Hermione were seated in the comfortable squashy armchairs in the library, meditatively staring into the warm flames of the fire. Even though the May sunshine was warm outside, the lower levels of the castle were still quite chilly.

"How is Alina?" Hermione asked. "I mean, obviously I've tried to talk to her about everything … but I don't know how successful I've been."

"Well," Lois began. "Alina is not happy, of course. However, I do believe that this misguided attempt at _'punishing'_ her doesn't really trouble her very much. She told me she knew at once that it was only a DADA exercise." Lois frowned. "I think she actually expected just to be thoroughly thrashed. Most of all she's deeply ashamed that it took her so long to master that exercise – never mind that it's an exercise designed for _Third Year_ students and not for First Years.  
"Luckily the more serious implications of illegal punishments in a _torture chamber_ of all places completely escape her – yet. And I for one do not intend to enlighten her. It will be difficult enough for her to settle down with her entire House punished so severely. Have you any idea how they are treating her about that? Do her house-mates blame her?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've made a point of talking with all of the Prefects, and a number of the other students. I believe they do understand the mistakes they made now."

She ticked off the points on the fingers of her left hand.

"Punishing a fellow Slytherin without the explicit permission by their Head of House, ignoring all considerations of commensurability and common sense, using a torture chamber as the location for the punishment with all the connotations that entails, using advanced magic on a younger student …" Hermione sighed. "Lois, you have really no idea how _difficult _this situation is. Beyond how wrong and hurtful it is what they did to Alina. The balance inside Slytherin House is precarious to say the least.  
"While many Slytherin families are relieved that Voldemort was defeated, and quite eager to prove that they are not, and never have been, on the side of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, others take a very different stance. To them it is an affront that people like Alina – or Severus, for that matter, as his father was a Muggle, too – are even allowed into Slytherin House. That imagined slight to Slytherin House pride would have made _them_ punish Alina much more severely.  
"Especially the Prefects are under a lot of pressure from their families. Ciardha Vaisey believed that he _had_ to punish Alina. And he tried his level best to come up with something that wouldn't frighten or seriously hurt her. Up to the point that he allowed Ginny to be present as a witness. That idiot boy! Couldn't he have gone to Severus?"

_"Kids do the darndest things,"_ Lois quoted.

"It's so stupid. Crookshanks always gets away from me. I never told Alina to keep him inside all the time. I only asked her to _watch_ him." Hermione shook her head. "You know, for the majority of the students the whole thing was simply a lot of _fun_! They enjoyed the chaos and the adventure of searching for the damn cat. They were surprised at how civil Slytherins could be – asking for help and initiating a campaign that all four Houses joined. This could have been the start of the House-unity the Sorting Hat has been singing about for years. And now all it is is a big, flaming _mess_. They all tried to do their best.  
"But … as the saying goes _'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'._  
"And the worst thing," Hermione whispered, "when this gets out, and it _will_ get out, such things _always_ do … I have no idea what they will do to Severus because of it. As Head of House, this is automatically his fault. And it's not even a _week_ since he fulfilled the conditions of his probation."

"Shit, I never thought of that!" the Muggle-woman cursed soundly. "Oh God, Hermione – you don't think they'll – they'll –"

Hermione's lips trembled. "I don't think so. But … I just don't know. Maybe I'm just overreacting."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Sort of … he said that the only good thing about the situation is that he doesn't have to fear the parents of his own students anymore, now that Voldemort is gone and the remaining Death Eaters have disappeared. But apart from that … He's been … I've never seen him like that as a teacher. He puts up a good show for the school. But down here," she gestured at the library, "it's obvious that this really hit him hard. He's furious, frustrated, disappointed. And he blames himself."

**oooOooo**


	82. Perfect Timing

_"… he blames himself."_

**Perfect Timing**

"And he's very good at that," Lois observed.

"You noticed that, did you?" Hermione gave her friend a wry grin.

"Couldn't help it during eight months of voice therapy. Now," Lois briskly changed the topic. "Let's talk about something else. How was your honeymoon? How are things between you?"

When Hermione didn't answer right away, Lois frowned. "Is everything all right?"

"_'All right' _is not a phrase I would use in connection with Severus and myself at the moment," Hermione admitted. "He's almost like one of those Russian dolls. You know the ones that have another and another and another doll inside? The moment you get through one of his shells, you find yourself confronted with another layer of …" Hermione shrugged helplessly. "… of Severus Snape. Mystery and pain. Horrible experiences he doesn't want to talk about."

"But he did take you to Chartres."

Hermione smiled. "Yes. He did. Though he didn't tell me a lot about it. I mean – about why he ended up there and exactly what it means to him.  
"But it's an amazing place. And he knew so much about it! Oh, and the town is so charming, really picturesque. We had a wonderful weekend."

"Did you now?" Lois raised her eyebrows suggestively.

A fierce flush spread over Hermione's face.

"Don't ask," she mumbled. "It's too embarrassing."

"How embarrassing exactly?"

**oooOooo **

"… so you see, it's really killing me. He just needs to look at me and I – I want him." Hermione's cheeks burned when she covered them with her cold fingers.

"We kiss, and it's amazing. Mind-blowing. No offence to Ron, but he still has a lot to learn in that respect. And while Viktor was very physical, he didn't have style. Severus is simply …" Hermione shook her head, at a loss for words. "He's … _Merlin. _Awesome. Words fail, angels sing. And I can … _uh_ … feel that he does want me. And he even admits he does. But whenever I want to _do_ something about it, he draws back. And says something about_ 'not yet'_ and the right timing. It's frustrating."

Lois snorted. "It sounds like your Severus is a bit of a perfectionist. If you want my advice, lean back and enjoy the ride – in every sense of the meaning. You know, there is more to sex than losing your virginity."

"Lois. I _did _have two boyfriends. And besides: I've read books."

At that her friend laughed out loud. "I know you will find that hard to believe, Hermione, but there are some things you can't learn from books."

Then Lois grew serious. "I understand your impatience, Hermione. But – even though you have been working together for a year – you barely know each other simply as a man and a woman. When did you kiss for the first time? In March? It's not even the middle of May now! I'm very much aware of how unusual your situation is, but that is all the more reason to take things slowly. You are married. You can't simply break things off if your relationship doesn't work out.  
"Intimacy between a man and woman is a wondrous thing, and there is really far more to sex than mere intercourse. I rushed through my first time when I was fifteen, Hermione. And then I was sixteen and pregnant. It took me many years to realise just how much I missed by rushing headlong into adulthood like that.  
"Be grateful that he's allowing you the time both of you need, even though society expected him to relieve you of your hymen in your wedding night. You've got all the time in the world. Enjoy it."

**oooOooo **

"You were not at dinner."

"I'm sorry. Lois showed up after she'd accompanied Alina back to her House. And we ended up talking until Ron came over to take Lois home." Hermione sighed. "That was about fifteen minutes ago."

"Hmm." He gave her a piercing look. "Is the headache bad?"

She glanced at Severus, taking in the deep cleft between his eyebrows and the way the lines around his mouth cut into his face.

"Not as bad as yours," she said. "Did you take anything yet?"

He shook his head. "When Lois and Alina finally left, Dumbledore saw it fit to 'wake' from his faked nap. He had the gall to tell me that he finds Vaisey's idea creative, if utterly inappropriate. Then Minerva wanted to discuss a strategy with me for what we are going to do when parents, the Daily Prophet, the Ministry of Magic or all three of them come knocking on our door because of Slytherin methods of punishment."

"Oh." Hermione gnawed on her lower lip. "Do you … do you think that will happen? Anything of that?"

"Probably. With my kind of luck we'll get the article in the Daily Prophet first. _'Muggle-born Student Tortured While Under the Care of Notorious Ex-Death-Eater'_ – a headline worth Galleons if ever I've seen one."

Hermione stared at the black and white figure of her husband and felt like crying. Just a week ago they had returned from their honeymoon-weekend, and she'd believed that everything would be all right. Finally.

"What – what will happen in that case?" She hated how her voice trembled.

Suddenly Severus stood right in front of her. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she whispered. "I couldn't bear it if they did anything to you."

An expression of surprise and concern crossed his face, before he sighed and drew her against his body, hugging her tightly.

"Nothing will happen to me," he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on the side of her neck. "Maybe a disciplinary hearing at the Wizengamot and an official reprimand by the school board. The Wizengamot will tell me that I shouldn't allow students to torture each other. The school board will admonish me to keep things that belong inside Slytherin inside Slytherin. And the Howlers will complain that I didn't take care to see Alina _'properly'_ punished.  
"Don't worry about me."

**oooOooo**


	83. New Plans, Some Crazier than Others

**New Plans, Some Crazier than Others**

"It's such a mess," Alina declared.

The Order of the Noble and Venerable Knights of Dumbledore's Army (that officially didn't exist anymore) had convened in the Room of Requirement. For today's meeting cosiness and chocolate had been required. The room had produced a circular chamber surrounded with squashy sofas and many soft cushions. A kind house-elf had provided gallons of hot chocolate and everyone had contributed sweets, both the magical and the Muggle kind.

"You can say that again," Ebe commented morosely.

"Seconded," Cato chimed in, trying to ignore the newest edition of the Daily Prophet that was lying on the table.

"Thirded," added Joe Flamel.

"_Uh…_ Alina?" Myrrdin spoke up. "I – well, I understand that – if – you don't want to talk about it. But –"

"Yes, Merlin?" Alina smiled at her shy Gryffindor friend.

"Did you – I mean – they say it was _torture_ –" he stuttered.

Alina pondered the question.

"I don't know," she answered at last. "I don't _think_ so. It didn't feel like I think torture would feel. Mind, it _did_ hurt. And it was awfully embarrassing.  
"Look, I knew I'd done something wrong. The students from the old families were very angry at me. And though we _did_ have a lot of fun, I understand that _they_ hated asking for help. If you were Slytherin, you wouldn't like to, either. Not with how everyone treats Slytherins normally. Not you, I mean, you're different, because you're knights. But the others. If you're Slytherin, you're automatically a snake, a slug, slime, you name it. It gets old real quick."

Thoughtfully she twirled her braids. "And I don't really understand what's the big deal about the chamber. I mean, _all of us_ played there that afternoon after Crooks showed up! We took turns in shackling and manacling each other. Vaisey even taught me the _Alohomora _spell so I could free myself again."

Suddenly a small smile appeared on her face. "You know what? I guess Vaisey was helping me. He was completely focused on my wand. And I saw that he crossed his fingers. I think he helped me capture my wand."

_"Ohhhhh,"_ squealed Geilis. "I bet he _likes _you."

Crudass made gagging noises, while Alina blushed even more. "But I'm much too young for him to like me!"

Pretty Terrwyn shook her head. "Maybe you are _now_. But look at Professor Snape and his wife. She's twenty years younger than he is! Once you are twenty, Ciardha will only be twenty-seven. That's almost nothing."

"Really?" Alina's eyes were shining.

_"Hrmp –hrmp,"_ Ebe cleared his throat. "While Alina's love-life is certainly fascinating, we're here to talk about something." He indicated the paper. Blinking letters formed the headline _"Muggle-born Witch Tortured in Slytherin Dungeon – Did Snape know?"_.

"We need _A Plan_."

Everyone nodded.

"Even _I_ think that the Slytherins have been punished enough," Crudass declared.

"Thank you, I think," replied Alina wryly.

Crudass rolled his eyes. "Not you, silly. You're the victim."

"Thanks again, but as I said, I don't think I am. _And_ I'm a Slytherin, too. Believe it or not, I'm proud of my House.  
"And _furthermore_," Alina added, "This is not about _me_. This is about House-unity. _And_ about my Head of House."

"At least now that he's married that horrible probation is over and done with," Geilis said emphatically.

"Yes," Terrwyn agreed. "But can you imagine how awful that is for Miss – for Madam Snape, I mean?" She eyed the article with disgust.

"Even the competition for the House Cup isn't fun anymore," Adrastus – a usually competitive Second Year Gryffindor – announced. Sighs of agreement answered him.

Suddenly Cato shot up, index-finger pressed against his nose, his eyes gleaming with yet another of his crazy ideas. "That's it! House-unity. The House Cup! What we need, is a really, really _big sign_ in favour of House-unity. Of all _four_ Houses."

Curiously enough Crudass caught on first. "You know what, Cato? That is the craziest idea I've _never_ even thought of."

Alina was next. "They'll never agree to that."

Cato nodded. "They won't. But do they _have_ to? The question is, can _we_ find a way to achieve the result we need on our own?"

Silence filled the room.

"I'm not sure if it's possible at all," Joe Flamel said at last. "But you know? If we managed to do that … _all of us_ would have a place in the annals of Hogwarts forever."

"You think so?" Prue breathed.

"And we'll all of us have detention until we graduate," Crudass added. Then he grinned boldly at the other knights. "Annals of Hogwarts, huh? I _like_ that. Even if it's for the Slytherins. If _Snape _is able to take away so many points from his own House, Gryffindor should be willing to part with a few points, too," he offered magnanimously. "Or even more than a few."

**oooOooo **

"Shhh, Prue?"

The meeting was over and the knights dispersed swiftly, in unobtrusive groups of two or three students, carefully separated according to their Houses.

"Yes? Ali, what's up?"

Nervously, Alina plucked at her nose. "I need your help. There's something I need from the Room of Requirement, and I've noticed you're really the best about getting the Room to do exactly what you want."

Prue, by nature a cautious girl, frowned. "What is it that you need? I hope it's nothing dangerous?"

Alina quickly shook her head. "No, it's not." She fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's about my father. I told you that I don't know who he is. My mother simply won't tell me. But … lately … I've been thinking that he must have been a wizard. And that he maybe went to school here, too.  
"I want the Room to help me find out who my father is."  
"Or was," she added in a small voice.

"Oh, Ali. Of course I'll help you."

Decisively Prue turned towards the Room.

"Room," she said. "I want you to show us something that will help Alina Petrel find out who her father was."

**oooOooo**


	84. Your Heart's Desire

**Your Heart's Desire**

The door opened with a hesitant creak, as if it knew that it shouldn't open onto the seventh floor or for two First Year girls. The attic beyond it had obviously not been used in years. An inch-thick layer of dust covered the floor. The pane of one of the high dormer-windows was cracked, as if a small object had hit it in full flight. The room appeared to be empty save for a high, rectangular board covered with grimy sheets at the left side of the room, where a wall of brick-stones disappeared between huge rafters.

"This is going to help me?" Alina frowned.

Prue shrugged. "It _should_ be something that will help you find out who your father was. Shall we go in?"

"Sure." Alina took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The dust under her feet whirled upwards in a thick cloud. Prue sneezed and rubbed her nose, then her eyes. She sneezed again. "It's the dust," she explained, dashing tears from suddenly red-rimmed eyes.

The door closed behind them with a low groan.

"All right," Alina said. "Now what?"

"I – ACHOO! – I think we should try that thing in the corner."

Alina nodded and carefully inched towards the blanketed board. When she touched the edge of the fabric a cloud of dust-motes swirled up, glittering in the rays of sunshine that filtered through the windows at the end of the room. Clenching her teeth, she tugged at the sheet. With a whooshing sound it slid down to the ground, raising up a cyclone of dust that left Prue wheezing and sniffling.

The object it revealed was a splendid mirror that stood higher than the door. Its frame gleamed with the rich colour of gold and its feet reminded Alina of dragons, huge paws with sharp claws. Above the mirror glass a dark inscription was carved into the wood.

Alina recognised the inscription at once. Hermione had advised her to read _"Hogwarts: A History (Revised Edition)"._ Alina had taken the advice to heart, and although quite fat, the book hadn't been exactly boring and had certainly revealed many useful details about the school (for example: the entrance to the kitchens, very useful knowledge if you needed a midnight snack once in a while).

And the story of the _"Mirror of Erised"_. For a long moment Alina just stared at the words that made up the inscription. Somehow she felt almost as if she was in a museum.

_"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." _

"What is that?" asked Prue.

"It's a magical mirror. It shows you your heart's desire."

"Then it will show you who your father is, won't it?"

"That depends," Alina replied. "If that is really my heart's desire, then yes."

"But wouldn't you know that?"

"You should certainly think so, huh? Well, I guess there's only one way to find out."

Alina closed her eyes, took a deep breath and a step back. Another deep breath. She opened her eyes.

The mirror showed her a long, dark room. Alina frowned. Not exactly a room. Rather a hallway. Or a gallery. There were pictures on the walls, paintings, portraits, in golden and wooden frames. She narrowed her eyes and blinked. The people in the portraits didn't move. They stood frozen. Like Muggles!

The mirror seemed to focus on a portrait on the left-hand side. It showed a young man. He was pale, as pale as Alina was, with the same almond shaped eyes and short, non-descript brown hair. His expression was worried and nervous, his chin weak. His lower lip looked as if it was trembling like the nose of a nervous rabbit. He was dressed in black teacher's robes.

There was writing on the frame of his portrait, but when Alina stepped closer to the mirror, the painting seemed to withdraw.

"Do you see anything?" mumbled Prue. By now her eyes had swollen down to narrow slits.

"I think so … I'm not quite sure." Alina cast a dubious glance at the image in the mirror. She tried to memorize the painting. The frame. The nervous young man. The carpet, the outline of a staircase in the distance. "It's certainly not what I expected. It's not an answer. More like a clue. I think I'm looking at a gallery that contains a painting of my father."

Prue sniffled. "Does this mean your heart's desire is that you want to _find out_ who your father was? Not the answer, but the finding-out part?"

Alina frowned. "Either that, or the mirror is broken." Glancing at her suffering friend, she sighed and resolutely turned her back on the mirror. "Thank you, Prue. And I think we'd better get you to Madam Pomfrey now."

**oooOooo **

Someone pounded on the portrait frame in the dungeons corridor. Hermione hurried down and flung open the frame.

"Where is he?" Harry asked. Writhing and curling ticker tape draped around his neck, he was already sprinting past Hermione and up the stairs.

"Hello, Harry.  
"Nice to see you, too.  
"… my husband's in the library."

What had happened now? A sense of foreboding slithered down her back with an icy shiver. Hermione closed the portrait again and dashed back to the library. She was just in time to hear Severus' greeting.

"Potter. What an unpleasant surprise. Whoever let you in here?"

Hermione pushed through that door. "That would have been I."

"If you think _I'm_ an unpleasant surprise, you haven't seen this yet," Harry announced and grabbed the ticker tape that was making a valiant attempt at strangling him at the moment. For a second he looked at the slithering strips with disgust, then he threw it down on the floor and pointed his wand at it. _"Transcribo!" _

The tape coiled up and changed form. Suddenly a parchment with the next day's edition of the _"Alo"_ – short for "Alohomag" ("the juiciest gossip of the wizarding world") – was floating in the air.

The headline read: _"Ex-Death Eater Tortures Illegitimate Daughter". _

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** "Transcribo" means "transcribe".

The "Alo" short for "Alohomag"/"Alohomora Magazine" is my own invention. I don't think that the Quibbler would print that headline, but I'm sure some wizarding paper would.


	85. A Warning

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**A Warning **

Snape looked at the parchment in deep contemplation. Absently he drummed his right index-finger against his lips. "I seem to recall a rumour that the Unspeakables have access to preview ticker tape. Pardon the question, Potter, but why am I not dead yet?"

"HARRY!" Hermione cried. "You don't believe that rubbish, do you?"

Harry ignored her and fixed Snape with a steady gaze. Then he smirked and put his wand back into his holster. "If I believed it, don't you think my wand would be pressed against your throat right now?"

Snape snorted. "In point of fact I would have expected not to be alive long enough to witness you entering this room – if that were the case. Most … unexpected of you, Potter. To develop common sense so late in life."

Harry just shrugged. "I've always been a bit of a late bloomer."

Hermione thought she could detect just the barest hint of a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Severus must have seen it, too, as his right eyebrow quirked in surprise. Apart from that he kept his expression stony, and only an infinitesimal change in his posture betrayed any tension. "Should I expect Mr. Weasley trying to break into my quarters tomorrow?"

Without waiting for an invitation, Harry slumped down on the armchair next to Severus. "Ron's the least of your worries, trust me. Or even this damn rag. Did you know that Draco has started working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Severus shook his head. "Andromeda has made it clear that she does not want him to contact me and he respects his aunt's wishes."

Untypically, Harry didn't launch into a tirade about fairness and instead merely exhaled in a sigh. "Draco's very good at sucking up to the most awful types in the Ministry. He's even better at knowing things before anyone else does, in spite – or maybe because of? – his background."

For the first time Harry turned to Hermione. She realised that he hadn't wanted to face her because he was worried that his expression would betray his feelings. The turmoil that blazed in his eyes hit her like a fist to her stomach.

"Hermione, sit down." Severus' voice seemed to come from far away.

Somehow she made it over to the third armchair, turned towards the windows for cosy reading with a lovely view of the lake.

"Reliable sources indicate that the validity of your marriage will be challenged. You will be given a month's notice, then you will be questioned separately. _Veritaserum _will be administered. They _want_ you to fail."

"Hmm." Severus remained composed. As if nothing of what Harry said had anything to do with him. "That took rather longer than I expected."

His fingers strayed to the bridge of his nose, where the vertical line between his brows stood out sharply. "Very well. What do you suggest, Potter?"

"I? Suggest?" Harry blinked, taken aback by Snape's calm reaction.

"I assume if you had mastered to curb your unfortunate impulse to commit to pointless acts of martyrdom, you would not be here now."

Harry was so obviously at a loss for words that a faint smile curled Severus' lips. "No more witty repartee, Potter?"

The young wizard shook his head helplessly. "You're way out of my league yet, sir."

"Indeed."

"Very well." Harry's voice turned business-like and strangely adult. Hermione stared at her old friend in surprise. He had changed so much. But they all had.

"The two of you should use the advance warning to prepare yourself. If – if you fail, I will take up the defence of your case in the Wizengamot together with "Ace" Loxweild-Spalt.  
"I also suggest a meeting with Ron, Lois and Alina, but of course I leave the decision about that to your discretion. Whatever you decide, I will talk with Ron. You won't have to worry about any ill-aimed bat-bogey hexes – from either Weasley. I think I can promise that."

Harry sighed. "At the moment that's really all I can come up with."

Severus appeared to ponder these propositions. At last he nodded. "More than enough, Potter. I shall think about it. Now – would you excuse us, please? I should like a moment alone with – with my wife."

**oooOooo **

Another surprise: after embracing Hermione fiercely and nodding politely to Severus, Harry simply left – almost as quickly as he had appeared.

"Come here," Severus said after Harry had gone. When she just sat there and stared at him, he repeated, a little more forcefully, "Come to me, Hermione!"

She obeyed, unsteady on her feet, her mind reeling. He reached for her and drew her down towards him, until she ended up in his lap, leaning against his right shoulder. He wrapped his right arm around her, while his left hand came up to stroke her hair. Severus did not speak for a long while, only rested his head against hers while he gently trailed his fingers through her hair, exploring the shape of her head. The slow, steady movements did what words could not have done. They calmed her.

At last his fingers stilled.

"Thank you," he murmured.

**oooOooo **

On Tuesday morning, May 9, 2000, the Hufflepuff hourglass was filled with 387 amber beads. On Tuesday evening, after Johannes Flamel had inexplicably insulted Professor Snape by marching right up to him at lunch and saying _"I– I– I'm s– s– sorry, sir. B– b– but y– y– you're a g– git, sir."_ the hourglass contained 337 amber beads.

Madam Pomfrey, after having administered a liberal dose of calming draught to a hysterically giggling Hufflepuff First Year, was suffering from one of those ominous moments of foresight that are less due to a gift of prophesy than to long experience as matron of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_Something_ had happened or was about to happen. And she didn't have any idea what it would turn out to be: good, or bad. If she'd been a witch to place bets, though, she would have said _"bad"_.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** Harry's reply "You're way out of my league yet, sir." is a nod to the wonderful HG/SS story of my friend zeegrindylows - "Where Your Treasure Is".

AFAIK there's no canon reference to the gems of Hufflepuff House, at least I didn't find any. I thought that amber would suit them well.


	86. I Want You

**Warning:**

This chapter contains a conversation that touches upon dark themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**I Want You **

On Tuesday evening Severus and Hermione were sitting at the big desk in Severus' study, both of them pretending to concentrate on what they were doing. Severus was scowling at a stack of essays from his Fifth Year students, while Hermione was intent on drawing up lists and formulating flash cards.

"Do you have any idea who Alina's father is?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Her husband looked up. The sharp lines around his mouth deepened. Somehow he managed to look both relieved and displeased at her interruption at the same time. He steepled his fingers and contemplated her question. In her experience with the Potions Master that meant without a doubt that she would not like his answer. But as she didn't expect that effect anyway, she kept her gaze on him steadily.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Then why aren't you telling Lois? And Alina?"

"Merlin save me from Gryffindor candour. Answer your own questions, Hermione. For the brightest witch of her generation that shouldn't be too demanding a challenge."

She put down her pen with a smack. "Severus, I understand that you're on edge, but there's no need to jump into my face like that."  
Then she huffed. "Very well. I shall try. – You have an idea, but you're not completely sure. You don't like your idea, so you want to make sure you've got proof."

"That wasn't very difficult, was it?" he sneered. "I suppose the idea that I am loath to take away the last good memories from Lois that she has kept of that man did not occur to you?"

"Severus, I _know_ you like Lois and Alina," Hermione rebuked him. "Anything else?"

"As you said, I need proof. There is also a potion I should probably keep ready for that occasion, so that I can at least provide final and conclusive proof that Alina is not a fruit of my loins." His voice stung with bitterness. "Hermione, whatever you are trying to do with those lists and flashcards, it won't do any good."

She scowled at him. "What else should I do? And besides, you've no idea if it's not going to help. I always find that a well-ordered mind and a systematical preparation are 50 of any exam. At least!"

"But the test of the Probations Official won't _be_ an exam! If you really believe that we can pass that test, then you've been reading too many romance novels about the Muggle immigrations office of the United States of America," Severus snarled, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

She glared at him. _Why did he _have_ to be so negative?_ "Actually, I haven't read any novels. I only saw a movie about that once."

"Let me guess. It had a happy ending?"

Hermione ignored his reply and rose to her feet. She was tense and angry and scared, and when she looked at him, all she could think of was how it would feel to be naked with him. Her mind supplied his most heartfelt way of cursing: _Damn, and damn, and damn again. _

"Let us go to bed?" _Take that in terms of Gryffindor bluntness._

Black eyes glittered with ill-concealed anger. "Do you really think that will help with the test that lies ahead of us?"

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably, but she didn't draw back. "Maybe. Most of all it might help – _us_ – _now!_  
"I want you, Severus."

That brought him to his feet. His arms went around her back and fiercely pressed her against the scratchy fabric of his frock coat.

"And I you," he murmured. His lips found her mouth, but just for the shortest brushing of lips.  
"But I will be _damned_," he growled, "if I let the Department of Magical Law Enforcement force us into consummation of our desires."

That made her turn her head up sharply.

"You know what they say, don't you? _'Temper gets you into trouble. Pride keeps you there.'_ If both of us –"

He held up a hand to stop her. "Hermione, you _know_ that I am a proud man.

"However," he added, his voice harsh, his eyes boring into her, "ill choices in my friends and my ways of life saw to it that I learnt humility at the mercy of two masters, who – each in their own way – took complete control of my life.  
"One moment I was sprawling in the mud, my lips kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes, being tortured and raped because the Dark Lord felt he needed to make sure that I was sufficiently … _intimidated_ –" Severus smiled bitterly at the horrified noise that escaped her. "Hermione, you didn't honestly believe it was simply a matter of _'returning to the Dark Lord's side' _for me? Not even you can be that naïve! Lucius Malfoy, for all his high and mighty notions about the purity of blood, was never one to pass up on a good bit of arse. And for all the Dark Lord's inability to comprehend even the basest of emotional needs, Voldemort was quite _fascinated_ with the process of watching it satisfied – if it suited his … other needs."  
"And the next moment," Severus took up his original train of thought again, "the next moment I was back at school, teaching the children of the very same men who so much _enjoyed_ their time with me … and the boy I was sworn to protect was risking his life in the most foolish ways whenever I so much as turned my head."

"With no one to trust you, and many who despised you," she said softly.

He inclined his head.

"And another master who didn't give a damn about your soul."

"Quite so."

"I am sorry, Severus," Hermione whispered. "You're right. I am naïve. I – _oh_ _God_ – _'understand'_ is so very much the wrong word in this context … but … I _do_ understand now that your reluctance is not – purely – for my benefit.  
"And I _still_ want you."

_"Oh, Hermione …"_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** I did not include the reference to rape and torture gratuitously. Rape and torture are horrible violations. Such things should not be used lightly in fiction of any kind. However, we know from canon that Voldemort and his followers _did_ torture, and that they did not reserve such treatment only for their enemies.

Most of all: One of the things that never made sense to me in canon is how Severus' return to the Dark Lord's side is described. As if he just went back and was welcomed with open arms. The interpretation presented in this chapter hinges on that impression. Additionally, in my story Snape (while a possibly powerful tool for the Dark Lord because of his necromantic abilities) is also always a threat to Voldemort (because of the very same talent). Therefore I think that Voldemort might have treated him with special cruelty, just to make sure that he's under control.

ETA: Because one reader mentioned it in a comment - I'm sure that generally Voldemort used a clever tactic of _"sticks & carrots"_ to keep his followers in line. I doubt that there are many people - even Dark Wizards - who sign up as followers of a Dark Lord if all they can get out of it is being tortured regularly. However, to get as far as he did, Voldemort must have been not only evil, cruel and ruthless, but also extremely cunning and calculating. Therefore I doubt that he would simply welcome Severus back into the fold with open arms and no consequences. As far as rewards after Severus' return to Voldemort are concerned - I think becoming Headmaster at Hogwarts would probably qualify as such a reward.

Of course all of that is only my personal interpretation of canon and my AU story. Your measure may vary.


	87. I Need You

**I Need You**

Hermione lightly leant against him, but she didn't reach for him. Instinctively she realised that this was not the right moment for any possessive gestures, no matter how much she longed to put her arms around him.

She inhaled deeply. As always, even now, his scent made her stomach tingle with desire.

"Vetyver," she mused, her voice low and slow. "Also called Khus-Khus or Moras. It is used to break the spells of Dark Magic. Bergamot for successful ventures. Rosemary for protection and health, and to enhance mental powers. Not that you need that."

Severus' arms moved around her back again, his right hand stroking upwards along her spine, along her neck and into her hair. She breathed him again. She wanted nothing so much as to slide her hands underneath his frock coat and his shirt and feel naked skin. Hermione curled her fingers into loose fists. After the painful revelations of this evening, the next move was his, not hers.

"And then there's cypress," Hermione whispered. "Protection again. More healing. It also soothes grief. Nutmeg. Again for health, but also for luck and foresight.  
"I do love your scent."

"You did not list some of the rather more specific properties of the ingredients," he murmured. His breath tickled her ear and his left hand moved to the waistband of her skirt. Her heartbeat quickened. With a quick movement he extricated the back of her blouse. His hand slipped in, searching for her naked skin, stroking in endless enticing circles. She shuddered and her knees were growing weak with need from his touch.

Hermione swallowed hard. "Nutmeg … in _'The Key of Solomon the King'_ it is … described as the main ingredient of magical perfumes. It's also a symbol for fidelity. Rosemary for lust and love."

His hand travelled upwards. Fingers trailed the edge of her bras. She gasped, but forced herself to continue, when the movement stilled.

"V– V– Vetyver," she sighed under his touch. "Also for love. It – it – is said to make a person irresistible to the opposite gender. –  
"It definitely works on me."

Severus chuckled, a gentle sound that thrummed against her cheek as it rested against his chest.

"Please, let me stay with you tonight." During the week they normally kept to their own bedrooms. With their different schedules that was simply more convenient, no matter how much Hermione might have wanted Severus to stay with her every night.

He drew away from her and regarded her quietly for a moment.

"I still don't understand why you want to stay with me at all," he said. "Very well."

Outside in the hallway, he turned to the right. But she quickly laid her hand on his arm. When he hesitated and twisted to face her again, head slightly tilted to the left, right eyebrow raised inquiringly, her stomach quivered with nerves. _Courage,_ she thought, although she wasn't sure how wise it was to ask this of him tonight of all nights.

"How about your room?"

He went quite still, his face unreadable.

"Very well," he repeated at last. "Get what you need."

**oooOooo **

His bedroom was beautiful, in an austere manner. The fireplace in the left-hand wall was framed with bookshelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The other side of the room was panelled with a dark, fine-grained wood. The bed, a typical Hogwarts four poster affair, occupied a deep niche in the right-hand wall. A huge old chest in front of the deep window-seat and a comfortable wingback chair completed the sparse furniture.

The colours were a surprise: cream, sienna, and muted gold, rather than green.

"You will find the bathroom to the left of the bed."

"Thank you."

**oooOooo **

Cream and gold were the colours that dominated the bathroom as well. An array of green bottles, flagons and urns with obviously hand-made lotions, soaps and shampoos occupied a shelf. There were two sets of towels. Either Nag was even quicker than ordinary house-elves, or Severus had anticipated that she would share this room with him one day – or rather night – soon. One set of the towels was green, and so was the bathrobe that hung on a hook at the door. The other was cream-coloured.

Hermione quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face. The cleansing lotion was soothing and cool on her flushed cheeks. She carefully placed her toiletry items on an empty shelf and made sure that she had not left a stray hair in the sink. A quick stop in the loo, and she was ready to enter the room again.

_Why was her heart beating so fast? _She knew that nothing would happen tonight. And they had shared a bed before. But she was nervous.

**oooOooo **

Severus knew by now that she was quick in the bathroom, much quicker than folklore suggested a woman could be. Still, even a few minutes gave him a much needed respite.

He lit the fire and pulled back the duvet on his bed, then he moved to stand at the window, pointedly turning his back to the bathroom door. Outside the stars and a waxing moon sparkled in the inky water of the nightly lake. But he gazed at the reflection of his own face, almost translucent in the thick glass of the lattice window.

She was getting under his skin. No doubt about that. Simple sexual lust played its part, of course. He could still taste the subtle scent of her desire for him even now. And he wanted her. Merlin, how much he _wanted_ her.

_Just to sleep,_ he told himself firmly. _No more. _

He must not give her more, not when he was certain that she would lose him soon. He owed her that, at least.

Severus shook his head. Once again, all options had been taken from him. But curiously enough he did not feel angry anymore. Rage and fear were long gone. What remained were faint regret and fleeting gratitude for precious, previously unknown moments of peacefulness.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The properties of the herbs are referenced according to Cunningham's _"Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs"_ and the grimoire _"The Key of Solomon the King"_ available online at sacred-texts DOT com; the combination of herbs and spices is based upon my favourite male scent, _"Vetyver"_ by L'Occitane.


	88. Life Goes On

**Life Goes On **

As life is wont to do, no matter which upheavals occur below the surface of a person's existence, life at Hogwarts and Hermione's apprenticeship continued almost as if nothing had happened.

**oooOooo **

On Wednesday morning, May 10, 2000, the hourglass of Ravenclaw House was brimming with sapphires – ready to win the House Cup for the first time in years, with an easy winning margin of 98 points on Hufflepuff House. On Thursday morning, after the mysterious fire in the curtains of the Ravenclaw common room had been extinguished and the evacuated students had spent the night on mattresses in the Great Hall, things didn't look quite that good anymore, as Ravenclaw had fallen back to the sum of 185 points.

**oooOooo **

On Wednesday afternoon, May 10, 2000, Hermione had to give her weekly report about the progress of her experiments to her master.

"Very well," Severus announced. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Explain what you have done so far and how you plan to continue."

Hermione took a deep breath. If all went well, she would enter the last stage of her experiments today.

"My theory is that if you use a non-magical recipe as a basis for a healing potion, it is possible to imbue it with magic in a way that results in a magical draught that is effective, but still mild enough to be used by pregnant women or children without ill-effects and that furthermore decreases problematic side-effects and interactive effects with healing spells and other potions significantly.  
"As an example to illustrate my theory I have been working on a soothing magical bubble bath."

She glared at Severus. He'd wanted her to leave out the bubbles. She'd insisted that bubbles were _fun_, therefore relaxing and medically beneficial. She'd even asked Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout, Healer Mugwort and Neville for their expert opinions. The bubbles stayed in, Severus smirked, and Hermione knew he'd just been teasing her.

"The mundane ingredients are: 2 cups of milk, powdered, 1/2 cup of Epsom salt, coarse, 1/2 cup baking soda, 5 drops of rose oil and jasmine oil, 4 of musk oil and 3 of ylang-ylang.  
"So far I have conducted a series of experiments to show if a purely magical substance should be added, or if one of the mundane components should be replaced with one."

Hermione picked up a scroll and unrolled the parchment. "Interestingly, my experiments show that the Muggle combination of essential oils is already extremely potent magically speaking. The only thing this recipe lacks to achieve true healing powers is a spark of magic.  
"Therefore I have concentrated my research on replacing the basic compounds. Any changes regarding the salt or the soda have proven to produce either very volatile brews or results that are much too strong to be of use."

_Except maybe as a biological weapon. _

"The experiments with the powdered milk, however, were successful. A series of stringent comparative tests have proven that the powdered milk of a Behemoth provides a most reliable base potion."

Hermione spread out another parchment that detailed her process of alchemical substitution. Severus didn't react at all, but simply watched her in stony silence.

_She was doing well! _Pleasant warmth spread through her stomach. She knew what she was doing now. There were rules to guide her creativity. She wasn't floundering and helpless anymore.

"Now I am about to enter the most crucial stage of my experiment.  
"I need to imbue this potion with magic to elevate it above the magical equivalent of Muggle homeopathy so it turns into a truly magical healing bath. At the same time, I must meet the standards I have set myself: no side-effects and no adverse reactions to other spells or potions."

She put another piece of parchment put on the stack in front of her.

"Because of that, Charms are out of the question. Charms or spells as magical agents would elevate the residue of raw magic beyond the tolerable level. Therefore I am going to try an indirect, arithmantic method of instilling magical power."

Yet another parchment floated up and unrolled in the air behind her at a flick of her wand. It displayed complex diagrams of arithmantic graphs and statistical tables.

"As an extra-precaution I will not simply guide my magic into the stirring rod, but I will use my wand to _channel _my magic into the stirring rods. That way I hope to be in better control of the exact amount of magic flowing into the potion.  
"Here I have drawn up a series of experiments that involve different arithmantic patterns for the stirring process with different combinations of stirring rods. As a cauldron I will use a non-breakable glass cauldron again, as that has proven least reactive to the mundane ingredients."

Expectantly Hermione looked up at her master. She _knew_ that she was making progress. But she couldn't help feeling just a little queasy as she awaited his judgement. His black eyes glinted as he studied her, the papers on the table, and the parchment floating behind her. The silence lengthened and Hermione forgot how to breathe.

_Had she forgotten something? When would he launch into his customary lecture about all the things she had overlooked or overstressed? _Her mouth felt dry, and she could feel how her palms were beginning to sweat.

At last Severus inclined his head. "You may proceed with your experiments. Don't forget to bottle a small phial of each mixture you produce."

"No, sir, I won't. And thank you!" She couldn't help beaming at him. Her stomach was somersaulting with excitement. She'd been more than good. She'd been _brilliant! _So far he had _never _simply allowed her to proceed with just a word of caution. As Severus passed her on his way out of the lab, his lips curled ever so slightly.

"Well done, Hermione," he murmured, his breath soft on her neck.

**oooOooo **

After the door closed behind Severus, Hermione was hard put not to squeal with delight and triumph.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** A "Behemoth" is initially from Hebrew mythology and from the Bible, but I'm using the version from _"The Book of Imaginary Beings" _by Jorge Luis Borges, which is a kind mythical hippopotamus that remains tranquil even throughout the worst of storms.

The recipe for the "Full Moon Milk Bath" I found at http _colon slash slash_ magickrecipes _dot_ com - but I haven't tried it myself, so I can't tell you if it's any good.


	89. The Gallery of Teachers

**The Gallery of Teachers **

On Sunday, May 21 2000, yet another scandal erupted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And it was of such epic proportions that it even obscured the topic of Professor Snape annihilating the points of his own House or the question if Alina was his daughter.

Professor Bill Weasley caught his own Gryffindors manipulating their brooms before the last Quidditch match of the term and proved that although he was calm and in control in his classroom, he _did_ have the famous Weasley-temper after all.

He lost control of said temper so completely that Gryffindor House joined Slytherin in its position of an all time low concerning House points.

Both Houses would have to wait for September until another gem would find its way into their hour glasses. Additionally, Gryffindor Quidditch practice was on hold for the rest of the term.

Slytherins were seen sniggering and offering the Gryffindor team a spot of coaching in cunning and magical manipulation.

**oooOooo **

"This is the Gallery of Teachers," announced Ciardha Vaisey. "It's supposed to contain all the portraits of all the wizards and witches who ever taught at Hogwarts."

Alina stared at the high walls. They seemed to go on forever, and they were covered with paintings. But they were ordinary wizarding paintings. The people in the portraits moved or dozed or did whatever portrait people do when they were bored to bits.

She flushed and looked quickly away from heaving cloaks and robes in a frame just above her head.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "That all of them are here?"

"Hmm, there's an easy way to test it," Ciardha said and pulled out his wand. _"Illustro Album Dumbledoreum!" _

A flash like a giant spotlight shot out of his wand and flew up to a large painting at the centre of the wall. An ancient wizard with a long silver beard and twinkling blue eyes gazed down at the two students and nodded a friendly greeting.

"That's a portrait of Albus Dumbledore!" Alina gasped.

Ciardha smiled. "Exactly. Now you know that my spell works."

He lifted his wand again. _"Illustro Amycum Carrowum!" _

Nothing happened. The room remained dark, the wand quiescent.

"That's strange. He ought to be here. He was a teacher here, for all he was an asshole and a Death-Eater." Ciardha tried again. Then he made another attempt using Amycus' sister, Alecto. Nothing happened. Frowning, Ciardha called out a fourth time: _"Illustro Dolorem Umbridgeum!" _

No light, no portrait.

But Rowena Ravenclaw showed up right away.

"I think … that the Castle only includes the portraits of teachers that did not end up on the side of Evil," Ciardha said finally.

He sighed, and for a second Alina thought that he wanted to hug her.

"I'm very sorry, Alina."

**oooOooo **

"Oh, God, Gilly, whom could I ask? There _has _to be a gallery with immobilized portraits somewhere here at Hogwarts.

"It makes sense: If the castle automatically includes a picture of everyone who ever taught here and the evil wizards are _not there_, their portraits were taken away. To lock them up. They must have been petrified or something, so they can't do any harm. I mean, imagine all those Dark Wizards on the loose in all of the castle's portraits. That wouldn't be a good idea at all. Therefore, there must be _another_ gallery. But no one I've talked to so far knows about it!"

Impatient and irritable, Alina paced the dorm. Gilly sat huddled in her blankets and was watching Alina with big worried eyes.

"What is it?" Alina snapped, and felt immediately sorry when Gilly winced at her sharp tone.

"Does it … does it bother you very much? That, well, that you know that your father was a – a Dark Wizard?"

Alina stopped dead in her tracks and raised her fists as if she wanted to pounce on an invisible enemy. "Yes and no. I mean, obviously there are varying degrees of darkness. Just think of Professor Snape. He was a Death-Eater once, but he's become a good man and a hero all the same. Okay, I don't really expect _my father_ to be like that. Seeing as I don't even know his name. But it explains some things – like why I'm a necromancer, or why I got sorted into Slytherin in spite of my mother being rather the Muggle equivalent of a Hufflepuff. I just want to know who he is! I want to see him! I'd love to find his portrait so I could YELL at him. And if he's petrified, so much the better, because in that case he won't be able to shout back."

At last she sighed. "Of course there'd be the drawback about him not being able to answer my questions about that bell. Anyway, Gilly, whom could I ask? It's obvious I won't find it on my own. And the stupid Room is only taking me back to the Mirror and the idiot Mirror is only ever showing me that awful picture, but never lets me close enough to actually read his name."

**oooOooo **

"It's not enough," concluded Cato. "We're not getting there quickly enough. There's not enough time. And we can't risk anyone catching on."

Ebe nodded. "I think it's time to implement the emergency plan."

Everyone turned to Alina.

"What are you looking at me for?" she asked, flustered. "I'm not a Gryffindor!"

"That is most certainly true," Crudass said. "But you've got the best connections."

Alina groaned. They had a point there.

"All right. I'll do it. Who needs free time anyway when you can have detentions?"

"That's the spirit, kid," Adrastaus encouraged her. His slightly pompous manner reminded her of Ebe. Were all children from old pureblood families like that?

As if on cue, Ebe's eyebrow quirked in a near-perfect imitation of his Head of House.

"Since we seem to have reached a decision, _'kids'_, how about you empty your pockets? And you know I want to see Galleons. Knuts and Sickles won't help us this time."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** You can find a list of my little knights with their names and a few comments in the topic "The Apprentice and the Necromancer" in my forums. Just follow the link to "My Forums" on my profile page.

_"Illustro"_ means "illuminate/show". The weird things I've done with the names are meant to show that Vaisey is really old-fashioned and is using Latin accusative forms of the names in his spells. (It's really just mash-up; I didn't bother to really translate all the names. I just like playing with Latin. -- That would be an interesting essay, huh? _"Correct Latin and its Effects on Magical Spells"_).


	90. It's You!

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**It's You! **

One afternoon at the end of May, Alina Petrel skipped down the narrow stairs from the Owlery, feeling particularly pleased with herself. Not only had she completed important Order business to her satisfaction, but she'd managed to sneak in a personal question and had received a very good tip in return.

Ebe, Cato and her other friends would be proud of her.

But now she had to find a particular portrait. He turned out to be exactly where she'd been told to look for him: in a remote, dusty corridor on the seventh floor of the South Tower. At first sight, Alina wasn't impressed. A fat grey pony stood in a meadow full of flowers. A huge sword stuck in the ground. From behind a particularly large tuft of grass, the sound of snoring could be heard.

Alina cleared her throat. "Sir Cadogan? Sir? I've come to you because I am a – damsel in distress and I –" _Good God, that sounded bizarre!_ "I require rescuing."

That produced an instant reaction. A small man shot up out of the grass and proceeded to drag at the grip of the sword. But the weapon was so firmly embedded in the ground that it wouldn't budge. He was getting quite red-faced with exertion. At last the blade broke free, sending a shower of earth and clumps of grass spattering against the canvas. Instinctively, Alina ducked.

The knight, his sword now proudly brandished, bowed to her and almost skewered himself. "Sir Cadogan at your service," he wheezed. "Dearest lady, what may such a humble knight as I am do to aid you in your distress?"

Alina pressed her lips together so she wouldn't start laughing.

"I need an escort to the forbidden gallery of petrified portraits," she said – as she hoped, quite lady-like and demurely.

Sir Cadogan swung his sword in a wild arc. "A young noble lady? In need of an escort? It is my duty, my honour and my … pleasure."

He offered her a distinctly sleazy smile.

**oooOooo **

But Sir Cadogan knew the way to the gallery, and he never stopped to think why a First Year Slytherin wanted to visit the Forbidden Gallery of Petrified Portraits.

He led her up and down and left and right, right and left and down and up, until she had no idea where she was. And then he left her.

"Are you sure you will be all right, dear lady? As you see, for obvious reasons, I cannot enter here." He eyed the hallway with patent misgivings.

In the dark tower that dominated the landscape of the painting he had just entered, a light flared up. "_Errr…_ fair lady, I am afraid I must bid you goodbye. The lord of these lands is not very cordial towards occasional visitors."

With that he kicked his heels into the flanks of his poor pony and galloped away.

**oooOooo **

It was the gallery, all right. Alina was looking at it from inside out, now, but she did recognise it all the same. She stood in the distant staircase, and in front of her opened the long, dark hallway with the strange, still pictures, so unlike any other pictures Alina had ever seen in the wizarding world.

Alina inhaled deeply, lifted her wand (alder, with the core of a Gryffin feather) and called light with a whispered _"Lumos". _

She stepped into the corridor. It was longer than she would have expected. Apparently quite a number of Dark Teachers had accumulated at Hogwarts over the years. Including her father. She took a deep breath.

Now that she was here, she knew exactly where she had to go.

The left wall, about thirty feet inside, maybe forty, so she'd still be able to see the staircase in the distance if she'd been looking at it from the other side.

**oooOooo **

And there he was. The picture of a wizard as a young man, weak chin, nervous disposition, non-descript brown hair and light, muddy eyes, posture prim and stiff, eyes averted to the left.

She stared at him.

It was disconcerting how he didn't move. How he fixed the left part of his frame with this strange, cross-eyed stare. He looked dead.

Only then her eyes dropped to the name inscribed at the bottom of the golden frame.

He didn't just look dead. He _was_ dead.

"You! It's you!" she hissed, raising balled fists as if she wanted to beat against the canvas. "You! You …" She fell silent.

Filthy coward. Fucking traitor. Sick bastard.

_Daddy dearest. _

Professor Quirinus Quirrell.

"It didn't say that you're a Necromancer in _'Hogwarts: A History (Revised Edition)_'," she whispered. "Asshole."

She took a deep breath. And another. And another. The world came back to her in bits and pieces. The wand was first. Still firmly clutched in her right hand. The flagstones under her feet were next. Solid, cold. Then her heart, racing inside her chest.

Her father had helped Voldemort return.

Her father was _dead_.

And why the hell was he staring to the left of his frame like that? She followed his gaze and noticed an indentation in the frame, something that looked almost like a button. She reached up and pressed down without stopping to think.

The portrait swung open noiselessly, revealing a small niche in the wall behind it. In the small, stony hollow a bell sat in the shadows. It was bigger than Ranna, but fashioned alike. The bell's body was silver, the handle mahogany. Alina reached up with both hands and carefully lifted the bell down, fingers fumbling for the clapper so it wouldn't ring. With a shaking hand she swung the portrait back into place.

She clutched the bell against her chest and stared up at her father. "You thought someone would come and ring this bell for you, right?"

Her nostrils flared with contempt. "Tough luck, _daddy_. Because I won't do it."

With that, Alina turned and walked away, head held high, the second bell hidden under her robes.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **My deepest **thanks** to zeegrindylows who helped me come up with who Alina's father was.

Also, I think another **"thank-you" **to my other friends who help me with answers to a thousand HP questions on a daily basis (even though most of them are not into this particular pairing, or even not into HP fanfic at all ...) is in order: Aranel, Fliewatuet, Leany, Marta. You're awesome.

To answer the inevitable **question** about why Quirrell didn't have the bells in "Philosopher's Stone": He had to hide them before going to Albania. No international Portkeying with illegal Necromantic bells. And once he returned in company of Voldemort, he never got the chance to get them back, because Snape was watching him too closely.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	91. Remembrance

**Remembrance**

Suddenly Hermione's first school year as Severus' apprentice was over. She sat next to her husband and her master at the High Table and clapped enthusiastically, as one student after the other climbed up on the dais to accept their NEWTs certificates from Headmistress McGonagall.

A sideways glance at Severus reassured her that he had donned his customary scowl. When she leaned forwards a little, she could glimpse Neville's grin at the far end of the table. Neville had changed so much. He'd already been different after the war, bolder and not quite as timid. But the months since he had started his apprenticeship with Professor Sprout had had even more impact. Neville would never be the typical extroverted, brash Gryffindor, but by now he was very much the self-confident young teacher and herbologist with a very promising academic future.

_It's good to see how we're finding our ways into the future at last,_ Hermione mused. _I wasn't really sure for a while, how things would turn out for us after Voldemort's defeat. But now …_

Her thoughts strayed to her other friends.

Harry was doing well, both as an Auror and at the Wizengamot. Draco was perfectly poised for a Ministry career, now that Andromeda had been made judge of the Probations Court. Luna was happily researching the flora and fauna of South America at the Newt Scamander Foundation. Ron was keeping Weasleys Wizard Wheezes on an even keel. Lavender was quite content at "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions". Dean Thomas had sent her an Owl from his internship with the International Confederation of Wizardry only a few days ago. Seamus Finnigan was about to enter his second year as a curse-breaker for Gringotts, specialising on fake valuables. Parvati and Padma were in India, taking a course in Ayurvedan magic. She couldn't wait to meet up with them on their return. Ayurvedan potions were fascinating. And Hannah Abbott had just started her half-year on the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungo's.

Then it was Ginny Weasley's turn to receive her NEWTs certificate from Headmistress McGonagall as the last student of her year.

Where did those silly tears in her eyes come from? Hermione blinked quickly and was glad that cheers from all four Houses masked her undignified sniffle.

**oooOooo **

The applause died away and Headmistress McGonagall stepped to the rostrum. She moved slowly and a little stiffly.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. While she and her friends had grown up, Minerva McGonagall was growing older. And the last few weeks had been stressful. For once Headmistress McGonagall looked as if she really could be a seventy-five years old woman, though very well-preserved.

"Another year is gone," she said, and gazed down at the students. "Before I award the House Cup for this year, let us take the time and look back at what this year has brought us, both the good and the bad things.  
"This year we have welcomed thirty-six new students in our midst. Two new teachers have joined us, and have proven to be invaluable assets to the staff."

Both Professor Weasley and Professor Hitchens rose quickly and nodded politely to Minerva.

"For the first time in many years Hogwarts is also the home of apprentices again. I am proud and happy that we have been able to continue this time-honoured tradition of further magical education with Madam Snape and Mr. Longbottom.  
"Both Professor Snape and Professor Sprout assure me that the academic work of their apprentices will contribute to Hogwarts' reputation as not only one of the finest wizarding schools in the world, but also as one of the premier research facilities of Great Britain.  
"Madam Snape is currently working on a project about reducing side-effects and adverse drug reactions. Mr. Longbottom is working on a joint project with the Newt Scamander Foundation, researching the introduction of exotic magical flora into Great Britain.  
"Apart from that, both apprentices have provided invaluable support for the staff as assistant teachers."

Heat flooded Hermione's face as she staggered to her feet. The applause was enormous and she knew that her cheeks were bright red by the time she slumped back down on her seat again.

When the Hall quieted again, Minerva continued, "Forty students should be sitting here tonight with happy smiles, their NEWT certificates in their hands and a bright future ahead of them. Only thirty-five students are here.  
"I ask all of you to rise now and remember three young men and two young women who should have been here tonight to celebrate his graduation. Please let us share a moment of quiet remembrance for Colin Creevey, Abaegayle Gibbs, Patricia Michaels, Brennan Stringer and James Tyler who sacrificed their lives for our future."

With a rustle of robes and a scraping of heels, everyone rose to their feet.

Silence filled the Great Hall.

"Thank you."

When everyone was seated again, Minerva McGonagall's expression grew stern, and her piercing gaze made the students sitting at the front ends of the tables cower.

"You should never forget the message their lives and deaths have bequeathed unto you. It fills me with deep regret and shame, when I look back at the past weeks and I am forced to find that you are already beginning to forget the lesson the war should have taught you."

She fixed the Slytherin table with a steely gaze. A wave of low whispers flowed around the other tables.

"If we turn upon each other with cruelty and malice, all is lost.

Now she glared at the Gryffindors.

"Likewise I am appalled that some of you believe that manipulation and deception are appropriate strategies in a game based on fairness."  
"Either occurrence is not a behaviour true to the spirit of Hogwarts. I tell you now, if we are not able to live up to the spirit of unity that the Hogwarts of old was founded upon, the victory over Voldemort will prove nothing but an illusion. Do not forget that during your summer holidays."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** DH-canon says that besides the dead mentioned by name 50 bodies were laid out after the battle of Hogwarts. I assume that most of the dead were Order members and Aurors. However, I believe it is safe to assume that also a fair number of students were killed. I think it would have been rather students from the higher forms who stayed to fight on one side or the other. Apart from Colin Creevey the names are made up.


	92. House Cup 2000

**House-Cup 2000**

Minerva McGonagall waited until the last whispers had died away. Then she drew her wand and flicked it. The House Cup appeared out of thin air and floated serenely above the dais of the High Table, its red, blue, green and yellow gems gleaming in the light of the myriad candles that hovered below the ceiling.

"Now it is time to award the House Cup."

Another flick of the wands, and the decoration of the Great Hall switched to shades of silver and blue.

"The points at the end of this year stand thus: In fourth place, Slytherin, with minus thirty-seven points. In third place, Gryffindor, with minus two points. In second place, Hufflepuff –"

The sound of explosions in the Entrance Hall cut her off.

BANG!

The students jumped.

BOOM!

The students shrieked.

WHAM!

The teachers were on their feet.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" shouted the magically amplified voice of the Headmistress, who was already hurrying towards the Entrance Hall hard on the heels of Professors Snape and Weasley.

Hermione whipped out her wand and ran after them, distantly aware that the Hall was completely silent for a moment. Barely a second later a new noise started: A multitude of small pops and cracks, puffs and snaps drifted into the Great Hall from outside.

Suddenly the high voice of a Slytherin First Year echoed through the Great Hall: "The hour glasses! The hour glasses have exploded! And all the gems are turning into POPCORN!"

Hermione skidded around the corner of the entrance door – and quickly jumped back, stumbling backwards into a crowd of excited students. But it was too late. Already a wave of fluffy flakes and crisp puffs was rolling against her knees, quickly rising higher. The warm fragrance of caramelised sugar wafted overhead.

In the Entrance Hall only the heads of Headmistress McGonagall and the Professors Snape and Weasley were still visible above a sea of popcorn. Still the hourglasses kept overflowing, releasing a steady stream of puffed corn. Within moments the sweet tide had reached the dais of the High Table.

Now there was no restraining the students anymore. No one stayed seated. Squealing and screaming they plunged into the sea of popcorn, stuffing themselves with one hand and throwing puffed projectiles at the other students with the other hand. Professor Flitwick bobbed along on a wave, while Professor Sprout was greedily shovelling popcorn into her mouth.

Within minutes the Great Hall was in complete, popped and candied chaos.

**oooOooo **

_Fred and George!_ was the first idea that shot through Hermione's mind when she realised that the white flood posed no imminent danger for the lives and limbs of the students.

Then: _Not _Fred.

An unexpected pang of sadness squeezed her heart amid peals of laughter and cries of delight. She inhaled deeply and her stomach growled. Frowning she cast a quick diagnostic spell. It was real popcorn – a complete transfiguration of the hourglass gems.

_Definitely a Weasley product,_ she thought, and shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Crunchy. Sweet. Tasty.

In spite of herself the corner of her mouth curled into a wide grin. With a bit of effort, she managed to wade to the door and hang on to the frame, withstanding the white currents. In the Entrance Hall Minerva and her two colleagues had reached the hourglasses. Their wands pulled, they each faced a glass.

A moment and a stunning spell later, the flow of popcorn stopped.

**oooOooo **

It took the better part of an hour to restore order to the Great Hall, to _Evanesco_ the popcorn and to treat students and teachers who had overindulged with a Stomach Soothing Syrup.

At last everyone was seated again and Headmistress McGonagall was back at the rostrum, slightly worse for wear, her neat bun dishevelled with the odd puff of popcorn still adorning her pepper-and-salt hair or falling from the folds of her robes.

The House Cup, filled to the brim with popcorn that had miraculously evaded the _Evanesco_-ing, still floated above the dais.

"I was about to list the House points each of our four Houses earned this school year and to award the House Cup before I was interrupted.  
"As of this second, the House points stand thus: zero points for Gryffindor, zero points for Hufflepuff, zero points for Ravenclaw and zero points for Slytherin.  
"And now …" the Headmistress voice cut like a knife through the hush in the Hall. "Now I want to know who is responsible for the destruction of three valuable magical hourglasses and the annihilation of gems that were a few thousand Galleons worth."

"Step up and explain yourselves," she hissed.

In the silence that followed, you could hear the occasional leftover popcorn puff dropping to the floor.

Hermione looked down at the students and wondered if the pranksters would accept the responsibility for sabotaging the House Cup ceremony. Sudden activity at the Slytherin table caught her eye. When Hermione saw who was standing up, she winced.

_Alina! _

But before Alina could climb over the bench and step into the aisle, students were getting up at the other tables, too, until at last a group of thirteen students huddled together in the middle of the hall.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Headmistress asked, her voice icy.

Ebenezer Sibly-Style from Slytherin, Barret Cruddace from Gryffindor, Johannes Flamel from Hufflepuff and Cato Cornell from Ravenclaw stepped in front of the others. After exchanging a look with Ebenezer, Barret Cruddace took another step forwards.

"We did it. All of us.  
"You keep talking about House unity. But you don't really believe in it. You keep pitching us against each other, especially Gryffindors against Slytherins. It's always us against them. How are we supposed to ever trust each other that way?  
"And that House Cup. If all of us had a fair chance, it might be fun. But it's really only about prejudices and mistakes.  
"We're sick of that. That's why we did it. You can keep your stupid Cup."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** A HUGE "thank you" goes to **Aranel Took** who suggested a custom-made Weasleys' Wizard Wheeze and turning the gems into popcorn. It's one of the most brilliant ideas anyone at Hogwarts ever had, I think, and I can only hope that my description has done it justice.


	93. A Bath

**A Bath **

"If I never see another student again in my life," Hermione groaned, "it will be too soon."

"What?" Severus sneered. "Tired of your dear dunderheads already?"

She gave him a wry grin. "Let's just say that my understanding of your patient and equable disposition has increased by leaps and bounds."

Just around five minutes ago the massed student populace of Hogwarts had finally left for their summer holidays. Hermione's ears were still ringing with the echoes of their screams and shouts, cheers and tears.

"It was rather an exit with a bang this year," Severus admitted grudgingly, and absently rubbed his left arm.

Hermione frowned. She'd noticed him surreptitiously touching his left forearm before. "Is something wrong? Does your arm hurt?"

He snatched his hand away from his arm as if he'd been burnt. "No. It's nothing. Just … Old habits die hard, I suppose."

"Of course." She swallowed drily. _I need to look away from his hands. I need to stop obsessing about how his hands felt on my naked skin. No, I need to feel his damn hands on my naked skin again. _

He'd noticed her gaze. _Of course._

Black eyes caught hers. Predictably, her stomach tightened, quivered, and she grew aware of how the fabric of her bras and blouse stretched over her breasts. She bit down on her lip, hard. When had she so completely _fallen_ for him? Hermione couldn't remember. All she knew was that she was still falling.

_Will you catch me? _she wondered. _Or will there be no net, and nothing to save me …_

Brusquely she turned away.

_Hermione,_ she told herself, _get a grip. You need to get a grip _now_. You're 20 years old. You knowingly entered a marriage of convenience. You _knew_ there might never be mutual love in this marriage. _He_ told you so, for God's sake! You can't pine for your _own_ husband. That's ridiculous. _

BLOODY HELL.

"Hermione?" A hand touched her, turned her around. His voice was hoarse.

_If Harry and Draco are right, we have maybe a month left. Perhaps six weeks. And _he _doesn't believe that we have any chance at all. _

_… 'bloody hell' doesn't even begin to cover it. _

**oooOooo **

His arm was hurting. Although his rational mind was telling him that it was only the inclement weather wreaking havoc with his scar, there was a part of his mind that was not at all rational, and indeed closer to panic than Severus wanted to admit even to himself.

And then _she_ had to go and look at him like that.

_Damn, damn, and damn again. _

Huge brown eyes, and she was so obviously trying to be brave. _Damn those Gryffindors. _

**oooOooo **

"Well," Severus asked and raised a black eyebrow. "How do you feel about your experiments, Hermione? Are you willing to test your own brews?"

She frowned at him and for some perverse reason her insecurity pleased him.

"Your bathing lotion," he insisted. "Is it or is it not ready for testing?"

At her wary look, he couldn't keep from smirking.

"If you failed to notice, Hermione – the students are gone, and all of the teachers who have homes and families elsewhere in the world have left Hogwarts as well. Should you desire to conduct any ... dangerous … experiments, I suggest that you avail yourself of this unique opportunity." He noticed that his silky tone had a profound effect on Hermione and couldn't suppress a feeling of smug satisfaction.

She simply stared at him. His lips curled into an almost gleeful grin. Hermione – speechless? _Well done, Master Snape!_

He watched how the expression in her clear brown eyes changed to a challenging sparkle. Intrigued he waited for her inevitable retort. While she lacked his scathing wit, he had rather come to appreciate her sense of humour as both subtle and intelligent.

She took a step forward until she was standing so close to him that he could feel her breasts pressed against his chest. Slowly she raised her head to meet his eyes. The small movement rubbed her breasts against him and sent a jolt of desire through his body. When he sharply sucked in his breath, a faint smile crossed her face.

"And here I thought you would never suggest hat we try out our new bathroom, sir."

**oooOooo **

Dumbledore had once accused him of enjoying to torture himself. Severus had replied that exposing himself to temptation was an exercise in self-control and that, when all was said and done, he more than deserved the most painful penance obtainable.

Sinking deeper into the scented foam of the bath his apprentice had prepared for them, he wondered how wise it had been to agree to Hermione's suggestion to use her magically soothing bathing lotion to inaugurate the pool in their new bathroom.

Watching her disrobe took his breath away. When Hermione sat down at the edge of the pool and smiled at him seductively before she allowed herself to slide slowly into the water, Severus was sure that nothing short of knocking him unconscious would be able to soothe or calm him that night.

**oooOooo **

Severus floated, weightless and warm. His head rested on a pool pillow, while gentle hands sleeked back his wet hair.

"I've made a shampoo for you," Hermione murmured. "Vetyver, chickpea, lemon and rosemary. It's good against greasy hair – it inhibits the excess activity of the sebaceous glands."

He just sighed, relaxing under her tender touch.

"I'm not giving you a massage because that stimulates the glands," she whispered as she smoothed shampoo into the strands of his hair. "But I have a tonic with bergamot and peppermint to comb into your hair for when I'm done washing it. And I _might_ kiss you. If you want me to, that is."

Warm water flowed over his scalp and melted last residues of tension away, leaving him languid and limp. He blinked his eyes open with supreme effort.

"A kiss would be nice," he mumbled, and promptly drifted off to sleep.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The treatement of greasy hair is based on information presented at the website gaias-garden DOT co DOT uk and on an Ayurvedan shampoo recipe.


	94. Teardrops on Roses, Whiskers on Kittens

**Teardrops on Roses, Whiskers on Kittens **

On Friday, July 7, 2000, a blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet of a summer morning in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione jumped, and promptly dropped the cup of tea she'd been about to lift to her mouth.

Neville was already on his feet, wand drawn and pointed steadily. Severus was just a fraction of a second slower than the younger man.

The next moment Filch came hurtling into the Hall, his thin hair flying, his jowls red and throbbing, his face contorted into a grimace of fury, his eyes bulging on the verge of an apoplexy.

_"She … "_ he sputtered and stabbed his index-finger at Hermione. "_She …_ The damn witch and her monster! Hurting! Raping! Torturing!  
"I will kill you if she dies!"

And with that Filch broke down on the floor, crying in great heaving sobs.

**oooOooo **

When Minerva McGonagall finally emerged from Filch's office, there was a pinched, pale look to her face. Her lips pursed and her nose even thinner than normally, she looked ready to run for the loo.

"I want a whisky," she rasped. "And I want it now."

"So, Minerva," Snape asked. "How is the new mother?" He quirked an eyebrow. "And the proud … _'foster-father'_, I suppose?"

The corners of his mouth were twitching with helpless mirth. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and bit into her hand to suppress an agonised moan.

"Is it possible? Our resident expert for all things feline – at her wit's end?" Severus smirked, while Hermione contemplated that if ever there was a perfect moment to attempt transfiguring herself into a mouse and running for the nearest hole, then _this_ was it.

"The new mother," Minerva retorted with a voice that could freeze the Hogwarts lake in spite of the heat of early July, "is protectively purring over five _quarter-kneazles_. Three of them fluffy and _ginger_, two of them scruffy and dust-coloured."

Hermione whimpered and ducked her head, while her husband had trouble to conceal a disgustingly cheerful expression.

"The _'foster-father'_," the Headmistress went on, "has just passed out again. And the _biological_ father is living up to his nature and thus –", she fixed Hermione with a gimlet gaze to make her toenails curl up with fright, "– thoroughly disinterested in the proceedings."

At that point Neville Longbottom collapsed against the wall because he was laughing too hard to stay on his feet a second longer.

**oooOooo **

The document to inform them that the Probations Official of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement had challenged the validity of their marriage arrived at breakfast the next morning. The date for the test of their marriage – separate questioning by Aurors after the administration of a dose of _Veritaserum_ – was set for August 15, 2000.

**oooOooo **

"I know you don't want to hear it, but we _need_ to talk about this.  
"If worst comes to worst, you need to be prepared. I have visited a notary and drawn up the necessary documents. Upon my death you will inherit everything I own, including a small house in Spinner's End, a rather dilapidated building in the north of England, a small amount of money … and of course, all my books.  
"However, I have already made arrangements so that you'll find a certain number of books set aside with instructions on how to destroy them. The only thing I ask you to do is to follow those instructions meticulously." Severus spoke in a quiet voice and pointedly ignored Hermione, who was desperately twisting her fingers, silent tears running down her cheeks.  
"The plans for my lessons, along with all of my notes concerning the students and my other duties you will find in my study, should the need arise. The wards are keyed to your wand. I have left a letter for Minerva that recommends you as my successor as Potions mistress and Draco Malfoy as Head of Slytherin House."

"How can you talk about that so calmly?" Hermione asked furiously. "You don't KNOW if we will fail that test!"

"Hermione."

She couldn't bear the way he looked at her. That bleak, black gaze.

"Someone has cursed the _entire_ wizarding genealogies to prevent me from fulfilling the conditions of my probation. Only the strangest twist of chance or fate and a … shall we say most fortuitous _misunderstanding_ due to the workings of some of the most ancient magicks of the wizarding world has brought us where we stand today.  
"Make no mistake. We _will_ fail that test. No matter how hard we try. And it will only hurt you worse, if you try so very hard. You cannot keep me safe. No one can. The best we – the best _I _can hope for is to keep _you_ safe."

"Harry –"

"Harry will try," he said tiredly. "I have no doubt that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Walking-Martyr-Complex will do his best to keep me out of Azkaban. But didn't you listene to Draco? Harry's position in the Wizengamot is not exactly undisputed. And Andromeda Tonks-Black, newly appointed president of the Court of Probations bears little goodwill towards me. And for an excellent reason, I might add."

"But you didn't kill them! You didn't torture her!" Hermione's voice cracked as she threw herself at him, clutching at his damn frock coat, trying to grab his resisting arms, wanting to beat him, slap him, hurt him, just to make him fight, fight for his life, his future – for _their _lives, for _their _future.

_For their love! _

But Severus kept his arms crossed, and although his voice was almost gentle, he did not touch her, and barely looked at her.

"No, I did not. But neither was I able to keep them safe. Others lived, while her loved ones died. And _I _am the only one who would have been in a position to possibly change things for her family. It doesn't matter that I do not see how. Or that I did the best I could. They are still dead – while I'm alive."

**oooOooo**


	95. Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Rarely Pure and Never Simple **

After only two weeks Alina was wondering if it was possible to die of boredom.

Her homework was all done.

She wasn't allowed to do magic, and it wasn't much fun to use a wooden stick to practice wand movements.

Playing outside with her old friends was okay, but it just wasn't the same. Football just wasn't the same as Ditch ball – and _Ditch ball_ was only dumbed down Quidditch for babies and First Years who weren't allowed to play Quidditch yet.

Alina found herself counting down the days for the weekend. Whatever misgivings she might have had about her mother's new boyfriend (and she really had none) were overshadowed by the fact that he was a wizard and weekends were routinely spent at the Burrow now. And at the Burrow, there was magic, and most of all, there were _broomsticks_.

She just couldn't wait.

**oooOooo **

Only three things could make Alina sit still these days: two silver bells and thinking about her father.

She sat quite still whenever she contemplated the bells and her father.

But she was careful about the timing and only did that when her mother wasn't at home. Her mother was already scared about the one bell. And Alina simply had no idea how to tell her mother about her latest discovery.

It was Wednesday morning, and Alina sat at her desk and stared again at a certain paragraph in _"Hogwarts: A History (Revised Edition)"_.

"Asshole," she muttered once more. She didn't feel any better about her father after reading _"his"_ passage in the book for 37th time.

"And how did you manage to hide the bell behind your portrait?" She huffed. Some kind of elaborate spell, no doubt. But which one and how? "Good question. Next question."

She frowned at the bells. Two out of seven.

"And where's the next bell?"

_Where would I hide a Necromantic bell if I was an asshole? _

**oooOooo **

"Mum?"

"What is it, Alina? I'm in a hurry." Lois Petrel was about to leave for work.

"Do you have anything at all that once belonged to my father? Did he ever give you anything at all? For you to remember him by?"

That question got Alina her mother's attention.

"Oh, sweets." A hurried glance at the watch and a worried frown.

Alina squirmed. She hated making her mother uncomfortable. But it was really the best way to get the answer she wanted.

"Not really. I am so sorry, Alina."

"And un-really?"

Alina instinctively knew when someone tried to evade her questions.

Lois sighed. "We went to a flea-market once. And there was this bell that caught his fancy. Not a magic bell, mind you. Just a ratty old handbell that was probably used to order around servants in Victorian times.

"Alina – I'm really sorry, but I do have to run now. We'll talk about that this afternoon when I come back from work, all right?"

"Yes, thank you, mum." Alina hugged her mother and for once even allowed her to give her a kiss. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty about her manipulation?

As Lois was already opening the door, Alina called after her, "Mum? Where is that bell? I would like to take a look at it. Just for fun."

**oooOooo **

Her hands were icy cold and sticky with the clammy sweat of panic.

Dolores Umbridge smiled at Hermione and nodded at her assistant to get his transcribing quill ready. Draco Malfoy straightened in his seat. He never looked at Hermione.

Absently, Hermione noticed that outside the weather was beautiful. It was August. The sun was shining and a bright blue sky was dotted with fluffy candy floss clouds. Dust motes glittered in the ray of sunlight that filtered through the windows into the small examination room of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Her head was beginning to feel fuzzy with the effects of the _Veritaserum_.

"We will start with a few simply questions to get into the rhythm. Please relax, Mrs. Snape. There is nothing to worry about. After all, this is only a silly formality. Nothing to worry about at all," Umbridge simpered in her high, girlish voice. Her amphibian eyes were colder than Trevor's ever had been. "Please don't break the rhythm of my questions. Simply answer as spontaneously. Now, let's begin, shall we? Then you can go and enjoy the rest of this fine day with your husband."

Umbridge smiled again. The sweet note of jarvey-musk that pervaded her perfume almost made Hermioine gag.

_"What is your name?"_

"Hermione Jean Snape."

_"Who is your husband?"_

"Professor Severus Snape."

_"No middle name?"_

"No. His father didn't approve of such … unnecessary embellishments."

_"How would you describe your feelings for your husband?"_

"I love him."

**oooOooo **

"But I told the truth," Hermione whispered. For some reason she couldn't look away from how the parchment rolled up to form a cream-coloured arch over the polished wood of the table.

"So did I," her husband commented. "And imagine my surprise at how easy it was to accomplish that task under the influence of a liberal dose of _Veritaserum_."

"Severus, please."

Distantly Hermione noticed how Minerva McGonagall put an arm around her back.

"This has nothing to do with the truth, Hermione. I dare say that repulsive woman has a long list with arguments to base her ridiculous claims on. Harry and Ms. Loxweild-Spalt will take over your defence and it will all be over and done with before you know it."

Somewhere behind them, Severus expressed his opinion of that idea with a sarcastic snort.

**oooOooo **

"But I did tell the truth," she repeated later, when they were alone in Severus' bedroom. "As if I could do anything else, with my mind all woozy with _Veritaserum_. Besides, you've _seen_ it in my mind!  
"_I love you._ That's the pure and simple truth."

"I know, Hermione. Hush now," Severus murmured and pulled her into his embrace, bitterly aware of the fact that truth of any kind was rarely pure, and never simple.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **The chapter title refers to a quote again:

_"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple."_  
- Oscar Wilde


	96. All Rise

**All Rise **

Due to the Calming Draught that Severus had forced upon her at breakfast, Hermione watched the scene before her with calm detachment.

The courtroom was nearly identical to the one of Severus' trial. Dark stone walls, the judges' balcony on the dais, the desks and benches all made of black wood, dim torchlight – courtroom number nine was not any more cheerful than number five.

On a different occasion it would have caused hilarity to see Severus seated next to Harry. Today the sight filled Hermione with a distant sense of panic. To her left, in front of the audience, Umbridge sat as the originator of the claims brought before the court today. And to the left of the judges' dais, in the farthest corner of the room, Hermione glimpsed the Chalice of Neith on a wooden pedestal.

Then the bailiff banged his gavel. "All rise, all rise! I present the presiding Justice of the Court of Probations, Mrs. Justice Andromeda Tonks-Black, and Justices Tiberius Ogden and Zenon Yaxley.

"Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye – this court is now in session."

**oooOooo **

"I bring forward as evidence the certificate of marriage. As you can clearly see, the signatures of the spouses as well as those of eleven witnesses are drawn in blood. The twelfth signature, however is in plain, black ink."

With a tap of her pink wand, Umbridge directed the parchment to float into the middle of the room and to present itself first to the judges, then to the audience.

Harry looked bored. With a lazy flick of his wand dozens of scrolls rose from his desk and undulated mockingly in the air. "And I present precedents for legally valid signatures of Muggle witnesses dating back to the 9th century. If the Probations Official is not able to substantiate her preposterous claims, I propose we stop this silliness now and go to lunch."

Umbridge's wide, slack mouth tightened into a straight line. She looked as if she had swallowed a ruler – horizontally.

**oooOooo **

"Is that true?" Andromeda Tonks-Black asked, frowning.

Ace Loxweild-Spalt nudged Hermione. "You need to answer."

Even with the Calming Draught soothing her temper, Hermione flushed bright red.

"Yes," she finally managed. She kept her eyes on the desk in front of her, not daring to look at Severus.

"Now that we have contributed our part to the entertainment and edification of this court," Ace Loxweild-Spalt said in a cool voice and with an even colder gaze that was directed straight at Umbridge, "I would like to remind the court of the current _'Magical Marriage and Divorce Bill'_ that clearly states that Registry Office marriages do not require consummation to be legally valid. Additionally I would like to caution the Probations Official that discrimination of Muggle-borns is a punishable offence under the _'Muggle Anti-Discrimination Act'_ from 1999."

Umbridge's flabby face froze under her mask of perfectly applied make-up.

**oooOooo **

Umbridge rose to her feet, a satisfied smirk gracing her pink lips. "Furthermore, Severus Snape was not free to enter into marriage with anyone when he signed this."

She pointed her pink wand at the marriage certificate that now lay rolled up in front of Justice Tonks-Black.

"If Severus Snape is the father of an illegitimate daughter with a Muggle-woman, he was by the established rules of wizarding law unable to marry _anyone_. As witnesses for the prosecution I call Ms. Alina Petrel and the editor of the magazine _'Alohomag'_, Mrs. Jezebel Jeater."

A high-pitched, angry scream rang out in the court-room, "But Professor Snape is not my father! Although I really _wish_ he was. My father was Quirinus Quirrell, and I know there's a spell to prove it!"

The Probations Official gaped, looking more like a toad than ever, as Alina Petrel made her way to the centre of the room.

**oooOooo **

"Mrs. Umbridge, this is finally a convincing argument," Justice Andromeda Tonks-Black announced. "I was beginning to wonder what kind of farce this trial was degenerating into. Very well."

She cast a calculating and not at all friendly look at the bench of the accused to her right, where Harry and Severus were sitting.

"I herewith grant permission to administer appropriate doses of _Veritaserum_ for the interrogation of the witnesses for the prosecution: Longbottom, Lovegood, McGonagall, Mugwort, Potter. Weasley, Ginevra and Weasley, Ron."

**oooOooo **

"I think we have now established beyond any doubt that there was a plan to aid Severus Snape to escape the execution of the sentence imposed upon him in accordance to his failure to meet the conditions of his probation," Andromeda declared summarily. "However, there are two points that still need to be clarified in order for the court to arrive at a decision.

"One: Was the plan to obstruct the just punishment of the convict Severus Snape the sole or major motif of the accused Madam Snape, formerly Miss Granger, at the time of marriage.

"And two: Did the accused convict Severus Snape know of the plan formulated by the accused Madam Snape, formerly Miss Granger, at the time of marriage."

**oooOooo **

"Professor Snape, when you signed your marriage certificate, did you know of the plan to obstruct your punishment in case you would not be able to meet the conditions of your probation? A simple yes or no will suffice."

Expressionless black eyes gazed at the judges.

"Yes," Severus Snape replied calmly.

**oooOooo **

"What did you feel, Madam Snape, when you signed the marriage certificate?"

Silence.

"Madam Snape?"

Silence.

"Madam Snape, you must answer the court's question."

"I was relieved," Hermione whispered, "because I thought he'd be safe at last."

**oooOooo **

"But I love him!" she shouted, the Calming Draught finally wearing off. "Get a _Legilimens! _Take my memories! It's the truth, the pure and simple truth!

"_Of course_ I wanted to save him when I married him. But because I _love_ him, and not because I wanted to obstruct justice."

"Rubbish," Tonks snorted. "Who could love an Ex-Death-Eater and a traitor?"

"I can," Hermione replied, her voice calm and certain, her eyes burning with fury. "I _do_."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Although it's not canon, I do believe that it's feasible for Andromeda to include her maiden name during her work at the Wizengamot, simply to let the other pureblood wizards know that she's one of them. 


	97. Go on –

**Go on –**

Harry rose to his feet. Outwardly, he appeared to be quite calm, but there was a hardness to his green eyes that Hermione remembered all too well from some of their worst moments during the last years. In his hands he held a neat scroll of parchment.

"With this document I am filing a petition with the Minister of Magic to recuse Justice Tonks-Black from this case because of bias. I have reason to believe that Madam Tonks is subject to a personal animosity towards one of the accused parties and is therefore unable to reach her decision without fear or favour, affection or ill-will."

**oooOooo **

"Very well," Andromeda declared. "I recuse myself from the proceedings. As a solution for this dilemma I suggest that the decision of this case be referred to an impartial judge of indisputable ancient magical authority. I propose to defer the decision to the Chalice of Neith.

"The counsels for the defence will probably wish to discuss this with the defendants. Therefore I adjourn this session for a quarter of an hour."

The bailiff banged his gavel again. "All rise, all rise! This session has been adjourned. We will reconvene at 10.15 am, in exactly fifteen minutes."

**oooOooo **

"I don't like that Chalice, Harry," Hermione said fearfully. "Remember what Arthur always says? _'Never trust anything that thinks unless you can see where it keeps its brains.'_"

Ace Loxweild-Spalt adjusted her stern black glasses. Again she reminded Hermione of Fleur Weasley. Both women were blond and breathtakingly beautiful. The only difference seemed to be that Ace was not only visually, but also intellectually intimidating.

"Generally that is sound advice, Madam Snape. However, concerning your husband we are facing a real dilemma in the Wizengamot. There are those members like Madam Tonks-Black, who, for one reason or another bear ill-will towards your husband. Of course we could keep petitioning to see one judge after another recused, but that would only serve to delay the proceedings, not to reach a decision in our favour. And the other members – well, I am very much afraid that motions of the Probations Official to recuse those judges due to a bias in favour of your husband would be just as successful as ours just was."

"But –"

Severus caught her eyes and shook his head. "Hermione, there is no use in postponing the inevitable. I doubt there is a better choice than the Chalice of Neith available to us. And after all it did not order me killed the last time around."

Hermione nervously twisted and intertwined her fingers in her lap. She didn't dare to look up, because she knew that she might start crying at the least provocation now.

"I know. _I know._ It makes sense, all of it. It's just … I'm so scared."

Severus sighed softly. "Come, Hermione. Let's get this over with."

**oooOooo **

Court ushers in grey robes and with grey wands directed the Chalice of Neith to the centre of the courtroom including the burgundy-coloured velvet that covered its pedestal in heavy folds and the wooden plinth itself.

The bailiff banged the gavel and Justice Andromeda Tonks-Black sat back down at the centre of the judges' balcony. Once again, Hermione was struck by how much she resembled her dead sister. Especially since the striking difference between the two women, namely Andromeda's benign and genuinely kind expression had faded with the bitterness of grief, leaving harsh lines and cold eyes behind.

After Harry and Ace had accepted Andromeda's proposition on behalf of their clients and the Probations Official also agreed to submit to the verdict of the Chalice of Neith, the presiding justice of the Court of Probations sat down to draft the question.

Between muted coughs and whispers from the audience, Hermione could hear the scratching of the quill's tip on the parchment. The strange, artificial tranquillity induced by another dose of Calming Draught was gripping her mind. She felt as if she was watching herself from above, looking down at both herself and Severus, as they sat unmoving, opposite each other, waiting for the judge to complete her work.

**oooOooo **

"The question for the Chalice of Neith is this:  
Is the marriage between Severus Snape and Hermione Jean Granger valid according to magical law and the conditions of his probation?"

**oooOooo **

Golden light flared up from the depth of the chalice. With a soft puff, the small piece of parchment was flung into the air and serenely floated to the dark stone floor.

The bailiff hurried over and picked up the parchment. With a solemn bow, he handed it to Justice Andromeda Tonks-Black.

"All rise! All rise!"

Hermione staggered to her feet, her eyes not on the judges, but on Severus. His face was expressionless, just as she had expected. But his black gaze, startling in its intensity, was completely focused on her.

Far away, Andromeda Tonks-Black cleared her throat.

**oooOooo **

"No."

**oooOooo **

Severus must have expected that decision, because he was in her mind instantly, a touch of steel and silk, cutting and soft at the same time.

"Listen to me, Hermione. There is not much time now.  
"You must not blame yourself. That is an order, master to apprentice. Do not look back. Look forwards. Live your life. That is a request I have as your husband.  
"You know where to find everything you will need as Potions mistress at Hogwarts. See to it that you get the results of your experiments published this autumn. Support Draco or whoever will replace me as Head of House. My little snakes need you."

Guards in the livery of Azkaban appeared out of nowhere and stepped up next to Severus, one to his left, one to his right, while a third shackled his hands in front of him.

"Listen to me, Hermione.  
"Do you remember what I told you in Chartres?  
_"Be good of heart.''_  
His mind-voice was the barest whisper now.  
_"Go on –"_

A CRACK split the stunned silence of the courtroom. Then the guards and their prisoner were gone.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** In case you don't remember it, what Severus told Hermione in Chartres was a quote from Orson Welles, from the movie "F for Fake":

"Ours, the scientists keep telling us, is a universe which is disposable. You know it might be just this one anonymous glory of all things, this rich stone forest, this epic chant, this gaiety, this grand choiring shout of affirmation, which we choose when all our cities are dust; to stand intact, to mark where we have been, to testify to what we had it in us to accomplish. Our works in stone, in paint, in print are spared, some of them for a few decades, or a millennium or two, but everything must fall in war or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash: the triumphs and the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life... we're going to die. **'Be of good heart,' **cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced - but what of it? **Go on singing.** Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much."


	98. How long?

**How long?**

"All rise! All rise! This session of the Court of Probations is adjourned."

Hermione sat utterly still. She was strangely aware of her breathing – in and out – and of the artificially calm beating of her heart. It surprised her that they should continue like that, her breath and her heartbeat.

Then she inhaled deeply and turned to her lawyer.

"How do we appeal?" Hermione asked.

For a second Ace Loxweild-Spalt looked almost shocked, but a heartbeat later her professional façade of blond coolness slid back into place.

"You don't," the witch replied simply. "There is no appeal. The only recourse you have left is an audience with the Minister of Magic. His decision supersedes all others, even verdicts of the full Wizengamot."

"How do I get that audience?"

Distantly Hermione noticed that Ron was holding Alina in his arms at the very back of the courtroom. The girl was beating her fists against him, obviously about to lose control of her magic. The slivery glitter in the air around Ron indicated that he had already cast a containment charm over both of them, showing considerable presence of mind. For a moment Ron's eyes met Hermione's and he hesitated. But Hermione shook her head. There was nothing Ron could do for her – and both Alina and her mother needed him now. Ron nodded and turned around. When he left, he was carrying Alina with his right arm, while his left arm was slung awkwardly around Lois' back.

Suddenly Harry was on the other side of the table. He was terribly pale, his green eyes burning.

"It was not your fault," Hermione said automatically.

_I must not break down. I _will _not break down._

"I will also need to talk with Draco and possibly Percy and Arthur," she went on. "We need to find out what went wrong."

Another deep breath. "Harry – I know that this was one of the first things Shacklebolt decreed when he took over as Minister of Magic … but … I need to be sure … There _are_ no more Dementors in Azkaban, are there?"

Harry swallowed convulsively.

"Harry?" She was beginning to shake in spite of the Calming Draught. "Harry? Please tell me that there are no more Dementors in Azkaban."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry muttered. "They don't guard the cells anymore. But … see – there's a problem … There is _no _other place in the wizarding world besides Azkaban where Dementors can be contained safely. Charlie's researching the problem – we're trying to find another solution and get it through the Wizengamot, but –" He shook his head, an anguished expression in his eyes. "They are still there, Hermione."

_She must not break down._

Another breath.

And another.

"Then I need to go to St. Mungo's, too."

She watched how Harry forced himself to calm down, how the lines of his face tightened and the fire in his eyes grew cold. Somehow he managed to pull himself together. "Draco, Percy and Arthur can meet us at Grimmauld Place tonight. And I'll go see Shacklebolt about the audience right away. He needs to –"

"No," Hermione interrupted, although she wanted nothing more than to rush to the Minister's office right away. "No. Harry, we can't barge into this blindly. The audience is Severus' last chance. We need to discover what happened first. The decision of the Chalice can't possibly be correct. But right now … if I go to the Minister _now_, all I've got is a verdict of an impartial magical artefact that I don't like. That won't be enough."

She could see how Harry clenched his teeth. At last he nodded. "I hate it, but you're right. I'll ask for an appointment tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you." Hermione made herself turn to her own legal counsel. Loxweild-Spalt's eyes were icy enough to freeze the blood in her veins. Shuddering, Hermione followed the lawyer's gaze.

Dolores Umbridge was standing next to the desk she had occupied during the last few days. The Probations Official was fingering her pink wand with a loving caress, glowing and gloating with her triumph. She had finally defeated Harry Potter.

Hermione ignored Umbridge. "Ms. Loxweild-Spalt – I need to know your professional opinion. Do you think that something _did_ go wrong? Or is that merely wishful thinking on my part?"

**oooOooo**

"Are you all right?" Minerva McGonagall's voice penetrated the haze that surrounded her. Hermione shook her head. She wasn't sure if the Calming Draught or incipient shock was causing this reaction. She blinked her eyes. St. Mungo's. They were at St. Mungo's and she needed to talk to Muriel Mugwort.

"I won't fall down, if you let go of me now, I think," Hermione said.

"Are you sure?"

_I will not break down._ Hermione took a step away from the Headmistress. She didn't fall down. "Thank you for coming with me. I know you're very busy. I appreciate that very much."

Hermione knew it was an irrational reaction. But she hated the expression of careful concern on the older woman's face.

_Don't look at me as if I'm a widow. He's not dead yet._

Another deep breath. Hermione turned around and opened the door.

**oooOooo**

"If the Dementors are merely contained at Azkaban and no longer used as guards … " Muriel Mugwort turned her mug of tea thoughtfully in her hands. Hermione's cup sat untouched on the table.

After an initial reaction of shock and outrage, the Healer's demeanour was composed and professional again, something for which Hermione was profoundly grateful.

"He is not someone who should be exposed even to the mere presence of Dementors for any length of time," Muriel said.

Hermione nodded. She was very much aware of that. "How long?"

"I'd be very surprised if he were to survive a year," Mugwort replied bluntly. "But irreversible mental and magical damage might occur within weeks."

"Then we simply have to get him out sooner than that," Hermione announced, her voice fierce.

But the other women would not meet her eyes.

**oooOooo**


	99. Almost Nothing

**Almost Nothing**

"No, no, no!" Alina shrieked. Then she flung herself at Ron and began beating her fists against him. In spite of her slight build, her blows were hard enough to bruise. Worse, Ron could sense how her control of her magic was slipping.

Holding onto the girl with one arm, he used his free hand to fish out his wand. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate in spite of having to duck away from Alina's fists. _"Protego!"_

To his surprise, he felt an instant tickle of magic as a solid magical shield flared up around them, filling the air with the faintest glitter of silver.

_What a time for this spell to work for me,_ he thought morosely and glanced at Hermione. His friend looked stunned. Ron winced.

He still didn't like seeing her with the git. _Hell, I don't think I'd like to see Hermione with _anyone_, no matter that I'm with Lois now._

Hermione raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were almost black with despair.

_I think I'm going barmy, I hate seeing her _without_ the git more than seeing her _with_ him?_

Hermione shook her head at him, and if Alina hadn't hit his right eye at that moment, Ron would have sighed.

"Stop that this minute, Alina," Lois shouted. "Beating someone doesn't help!"

The girl never heard her mother, of course. Ron tightened his hold on her, and used his other arm to pull Lois with him. "Lois, we need to get out of here quickly. Alina's losing control of her magic."

Lois paled – she'd been cautioned about that like all Muggle parents when Minerva first visited her. "Can you …?" She shrugged helplessly, but did not try to touch Alina again.

Ron nodded. "I think so. But we still need to get her home. Now."

**oooOooo**

Ron awkwardly patted the little girl's back while she sobbed into her pillow. For some strange reason Alina didn't want her mother. She wanted _him_. Now Ron was perched on the edge of her bed, desperately trying to remember how his mother had calmed down Ginny when his little sister had thrown a tantrum as a child.

"How can they take him away? He never did anything wrong. He loves Hermione! Why don't they see that? Anybody that has eyes can!"

Clearly this was not the moment to say anything but the best about Snape.

"I guess the Chalice doesn't see things quite the way people do," Ron said at last.

"But it should!" Alina sniffled and sat up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her nose swollen from rubbing it so much. "It should! It's not fair. And I _need_ him! I wanted him to be my father so much, but I knew he wasn't 'cause he'd never do something like that, but at least he's my Head of House and that's almost like a father and he can't – he can't – he mustn't be gone and what about Hermione?"

With another sob, she threw herself into Ron's arms again, pressing her face against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his robe.

**oooOooo**

"I'm so sorry." Percy reached for Hermione's hand.

She snatched her hand away. "Severus is _not_ dead!"

Draco put his hand on Percy's arm. "Of course not. Let's sit down and discuss what we know."

**oooOooo**

What they knew amounted to almost nothing.

The Chalice was an ancient Egyptian artefact, originally hallowed to the Goddess of Neith. Linked with the Greek Goddess Pallas Athene, Neith was a Goddess of war and hunt, but also a guardian of marriage and women. The Chalice was a simple golden goblet. Around its base a hieroglyphic inscription announced its special power: _"I am All That Has Been, That Is, and That Will Be. No mortal has yet been able to lift the veil that covers Me"_.

"That's the reason why they use it for judgement. It is said that it's impossible to manipulate it. It is regularly imbued with all the laws and the history of the wizarding world. Thus it takes _everything_ into account, more than any witch or wizard could," Percy explained.

Hermione wearily rubbed her head. "But something _must_ have gone wrong. Somehow. The Registry Office wedding was perfectly valid. And I did not marry Severus only to save him. And he … I'm still not sure _why_ he agreed to marry me … but certainly not in order to save himself."

"As anyone in the wizarding world knows who's in the possession of two working brain cells," Harry commented and resumed his restless pacing. "Oh, wait, I forgot. The Chalice doesn't even _have_ brain cells._ Fuck._"

He stopped again and turned to Hermione. "I should have trusted Andromeda. Arthur was right. Again."

_At least he didn't repeat how sorry he is,_ Hermione thought. She turned to Draco. "Do you think Andromeda would be willing to talk to me? I think we need to get the Chalice examined, and that won't be possible if she doesn't agree."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm not sure. She really _does_ blame Severus, you know."

**oooOooo**

Hermione stood in the silent bedroom. She had refused all invitations to stay at the Burrow, at Grimmauld Place or at Lois' apartment. She had briskly lied that she would be all right, that Healer Mugwort had provided her both with more Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep Potion and after all she wouldn't be alone at Hogwarts.

She'd never been more alone in her life.

Stiffly she walked to the alcove with his bed. It felt so strange to be alone in his room. She pulled back the covers mechanically, revealing his black pyjamas, neatly folded, probably by the house-elf Nag. Hermione sank down on her knees next to the bed. With shaking hands she reached for the pyjamas, drew them closer, closer – until her face was buried in the black silk and Severus' scent enveloped her. But it was cold and stale, in the lifeless way that fragrance clings to fabric instead of skin.

**oooOooo**


	100. The Mists of Dreams

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**The Mists of Dreams**

Alina wasn't sure if it was a dream. It didn't quite feel like a dream. Her feet were too cold, for one thing. And she'd never felt the air so damp in her lungs before in her sleep. Of course she'd never cried herself to sleep before, so that might be the reason.

She was walking barefoot on wet grass. Fog surrounded her, and she could hear a river in the distance. Something was odd about this place. The cold, clammy darkness felt strange. Not quite alive. Not like a real night. But not like a dream, either.

From afar she heard someone calling. Alina recognised the voice instantly. It was Professor Snape!

"Hermione? Hermione!"

"Professor? Where are you?" She spun around, stopped, listening hard.

"Hermione? Where are you? I –" His voice broke, and Alina felt like crying all over again at the pain in her professor's voice.

"Hermione? I – I need you. I –"

The mists parted and Professor Snape stumbled towards her. He was ghostly pale, and his robes were in shreds. Alina gave a shriek of shock and surprise, before she clapped her hands to her mouth, cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

Her scream made her Head of House stop dead. He raised his head, and eyes that had been blind and unfocused a moment ago, bored into Alina, black and piercing.

"Alina? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. It's too close to the river. You promised me not to use the bell."

Alina frowned. "But I didn't use a bell! I was asleep. And when I woke, I was here. I – sir, I am so sorry! How could the Chalice say something like that! I know that you love Hermione. Anyone can see that! And she loves you so much, too. How could love be against the law? Where are you now? What is going to happen? Can I do anything to help?"

Her teacher held up his hand, and Alina immediately fell silent.

"Unfortunately, law and love have no more in common than the first letter." Professor Snape gazed over Alina's head, losing himself in the swirling mists. "But yes," he murmured absently. "You are right. I _do_ love her. And if there is one thing I regret, then that I never had the chance to tell her that."

He turned his attention back to Alina. "I think I know what happened to you."

He bent down and gripped her shoulders. "Alina, I don't want you to come looking for me again. Most of all, if you ever come here again, stay away from the river. Also, keep your promise and do not use the bells.

"And now –" His voice grew hoarse and compelling, as it strained to hit a certain tone. "Now you will fall asleep again and wake in your own bed."

**oooOooo**

Alina shot up in her bed. She was wide awake, her heart was racing. Her hands and feet were icy. Especially her feet. They even felt wet. She creased her forehead and bent down to feel the soles of her feet.

They _were_ wet! Whatever had happened just now?

_"… I don't want you to come looking for me again. Most of all, if you ever come here again, stay away from the river. Also, keep your promise and do not use the bells."_

The bells. Whatever had happened was connected with her Necromancy. Alina twisted herself into a cross-legged position and proceeded to rub some warmth back into her feet, while she mulled her professor's words over.

_"Stay away from the river."_

What river was that? And what could a river have to do with the bells? What had a river to do with Necromancy?

_Oh._

So the River of Death was for _real? _But she had only _heard_ the river. _It was not very far away,_ she thought, _but also not really close. So _where_ have I been?_

_… and can I take Hermione there?_

**oooOooo**

At last Hermione rose to her feet. She put Severus' pyjamas down and folded them again, as neatly as she could. With a deep sigh, she carefully placed them underneath his pillow.

_I won't break down,_ she thought, rubbing her cold hands against each other.

"Not until you're back here, safe and sound," she whispered. Another deep breath, and she padded around the bed to her side. But when she pulled her nightshirt out from beneath her pillow, two long, slender objects fell out of it: two wands, one of them made of yew, the other of birch.

"Oh God!"

He must have guessed that the verdict would be against them and hidden his wands here, so they could not be taken from him by force and broken. Her fingers were shaking, as she reached for the wands. Touching another wizard's or witch's wand was generally regarded as an intimate act – not necessarily of a sexual nature, but it was definitely the very personal nature of a wizard's connection to his wand that was the origin of the uncountable wand jokes that circulated in the wizarding world.

The moment she touched the wands, power flared up and rushed through her fingers. Hermione gasped, but she did not let go, although the feeling was almost painful. The residue of Severus' magic in his wands felt almost as if he was there with her, filling the room with his intense presence.

**oooOooo**

"How is she?" Ron asked. "How are _you?"_

Lois cuddled closer against him. "I can't really say. Alina's sleeping at last. As for myself …" He felt her shrug. "I have no idea. Dazed, I suppose."

He couldn't help glancing at the sealed parchment on the sideboard that documented the identity of Alina's father.

"Yes, because of that, too," Lois remarked with a wry grin. "I always thought that the saying _'ignorance is bliss' _is utter rubbish. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

**oooOooo**

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione finally fell asleep, too, curled around her husband's wands, her face streaked with tears.**  
**

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Why was Snape taken to Azkaban: Probation is a conditional early release from your sentence. If you violate the condition, your early release is revoked. Alternatively, it's a way of avoiding serving your sentence, but in that case, the same applies for violations of the conditions. Therefore, the three years of probation during which Severus could have married in order to remain free are declared null and void, because the Court of Probations _assumes_ that the Chalice of Neith interpreted his marriage as an attempt to obstruct justice by faking fulfilment of the conditions of his probation.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	101. Fair and Foul

**Fair and Foul **

Andromeda Tonks-Black sat at the desk in her study and stared morosely at the pile of parchments in front of her. Little Teddy had finally fallen asleep, and Draco was still at Grimmauld Place. She had permitted him to stay out as long as necessary, and she doubted that his interpretation of _"necessary"_ would bring him back before she had to leave for work again in the morning.

She didn't know what bothered her more about the day's events: That Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, had not trusted her to pass a fair judgement in the case of Severus Snape and Hermione Sn– Hermione _Granger_, that the damn boy had likely been _right _in his fear concerning her fairness … or the heartbroken expression in the young woman's eyes after the guards had taken her – had taken _him_ away.

_Damn. _

Hermione had looked as if the guards had taken her _husband_ to Azkaban. A husband she _could_ and _did_ love deeply.

But if that was the case, if the woman truly _loved_ Snape – never mind that he was an ex-Death Eater, ex-spy, ex-traitor and possibly a murderer, never mind that he probably deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable existence – then how could the Chalice of Neith have reached the verdict it did? Supposedly it was impossible to manipulate the Chalice.

But of course it had also been _supposedly impossible_ for Voldemort to come back and reclaim a corporeal existence.

**oooOooo **

"Percy, I need the Chalice of Neith in my office. Along with the complete documentation of its properties and treatments."

"Now?" Percy gaped as his boss glared up at him from the dying embers of the Burrow's kitchen-fire.

"Yes," was the terse reply. "Now. And someone needs to come over and watch Teddy. Draco's still at Grimmauld Place."

**oooOooo **

"Andromeda's really examining it?"

Draco nodded. "She has the Chalice in her private office now, along with the complete documentation and every single scrap of parchment that mentions the Chalice even in passing. She's put in a request for a curse breaker _and_ an Unspeakable. " He swirled the firewhisky contemplatively in his glass. "She had to magically expand her office to accommodate the files. So yes, she is _really_ examining the Chalice. Which means two things: one, she thinks the verdict is wrong. And two, we need more time."

"The only thing we don't have," Hermione said bitterly. Harry had been true to his word. He had arranged an appointment with Shacklebolt and wrangled an audience for her on the day after the trial. "Shacklebolt has agreed to see me – in three weeks."

She curled her fingers around her own glass of firewhisky, but its flickering liquid fire did nothing to drive the chill from her hands. "I'm scared that will be too late. Or too soon."

"You talked to Healer Mugwort, didn't you?"

"She –" Hermione swallowed hard. "The worst case scenario she gave me was a week. Not two. Certainly not three."

"He's a skilled _Occlumens_, maybe the best alive. That will help. And the _castle_ at least hasn't given up hope yet. It put me into some very nice guest quarters. But it's very obvious that they are only that – guest quarters."

Draco gave Hermione an encouraging smile. He had arrived at Hogwarts in the morning. As far as the wizarding world and the press were concerned, he was about to take up his apprenticeship in transfiguration with Alberic Switch along with the position as Head of Slytherin House. Only a few people in the Order and at the Ministry knew that he had only asked for temporary leave until Christmas.

"Have you tried summoning a _Patronus_ and sending it to him?"

Hermione lowered her gaze to her glass again. "I'm afraid at the moment I'm running rather low on happy memories. Or at least I can't concentrate enough to summon more than a silvery blur or blob or something. Whatever it is, it's not my otter."

"Hmm." Draco raised his glass towards the fire, suddenly very interested in the shades of the flames in his glass. After a while he sighed. "I've never been able to conjure up a Patronus."

"You've changed a lot," Hermione said abruptly. It was true. Even a year ago, she wouldn't have believed that Draco Malfoy would ever be something like a friend to her or Harry. And now he was … both, or as close to an ally that the difference was negligible. "Why?"

He raised his eyebrows at her sudden change of topic, but did not reply with one of the insults that had been his trade-mark retort to unpleasant questions in past years. Instead he shrugged and stretched his long legs towards the fireplace. "The War, of course. Living with Aunt Andromeda. But most of all …" He sighed contemplatively over his whisky. "Teddy."

"Teddy?"

"Yes. I'm an only child, I never had anything to do with babies before. Go ahead and laugh – Draco Malfoy having his epiphany over a dirty diaper _should_ be worth at least a grin."

When she didn't react at all, he continued. "Teddy's already showing amazing control of his metamorph-magical talents, did you know that? Just a few days ago I was looking at some old photographs with him. Pictures of his father and his mother. And the next thing I know, Teddy's transformed himself to look exactly like his father. Down to that ratty moustache."

He glanced over at Hermione. "People_can_ change, you know. Thankfully. Harry's changed as well. He's better about not being perfect Potter nowadays. Easier on my nerves."

"Do you actually enjoy politics?"

Draco shook his head. "Not really. But it's something I'm good at, something I understand. Allegiances and keeping up appearances. Harry's a quick learner, though. He won't need my help much longer."

"And then what?"

He shrugged. "Trying to prove to the world that I'm not the foulest git alive? I really don't know. Time will tell, I suppose."

**oooOooo**


	102. The Risks We Take

**The Risks We Take**

"Alina, slow down. I didn't get what you're trying to tell me at all."

The small pale face contorted with anguish. "I can take you to Professor Snape, I think. I think he's going to some place where only Necromancers can go. It's not Death, or not quite. I think it's where those students were that I put to sleep with that bell. Only I can go there, too, in my sleep, only I'm not really sleeping when I go there. And I've been thinking about it. And practicing. It works almost every time now. And I can take you with me. I think. I hope."

Hermione inhaled with a gasp, pressing suddenly icy hands to her face. _That_ was the reason why Alina had insisted she had to return to Hogwarts early?

In her mind she went over what she knew about Necromancy – from her own studies, from Harry's course material and the few conversations with Severus. She did not know much.

There were two dimensions to Death, a subjective and an objective dimension. Necromancers had power in both. The Realm of Death itself consisted of the River of Death with its nine Gates and precincts. Beyond the Ninth Gate lay True Death, from which no one except the Peverell brothers had ever returned. The banks of the River of Death were obscured by everlasting mists, the Mists of Dreams. While this fog did not form the dreamscape of ordinary slumber, it was a place that Muggles and wizards alike could reach, in coma or nightmares.

Necromancers could go there voluntarily, even without the aid of magical bells or whistles. That was how Severus had woken the students Alina had put to sleep.

Would it be dangerous? Of course it would be. But would it be _too_ dangerous? Hermione bit down on her lower lip, trying to assess the risks she had taken as a First Year, as a Second Year … fighting Voldemort.

But they were not fighting a Dark Lord now. Was it worth the risk nevertheless?

**oooOooo**

Hermione needed a whole day to lift Severus' wards from the bell.

Then, at last, they were ready.

Alina rang the bell only once. A sweet, low sound floated in the air of the bedroom.

One moment Hermione was staring at the curtains of her bed, the next she was surrounded by darkness and drifting mists. But she wasn't alone. A small, but surprisingly strong hand was holding her right hand.

"It worked! You're here!" Alina's voice sounded oddly muffled, but ecstatic all the same. "Professor Snape is here somewhere, I know he is. We'll find him! Come on, Hermione!"

**oooOooo**

They literally stumbled over him. He was lying on his side, near the edge of the river. From the corner of her eye, Hermione could just make out the glittering surface of whirling currents in the distance.

"Severus!" She dropped to her knees.

"Don't let go, Hermione," Alina cried and clasped her hand more strongly. "I don't know how to find you and bring you back if you let go."

Hermione nodded, but her attention was on the man in front of her. "Severus!" She reached for him. He felt strangely fragile and thin in this land of dreams than in life. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was unfocused and dazed.

"Severus," she whispered.

"Hermione." He blinked at her. "I could never dream of you before. And I wanted to see you so much. What does it mean that you have come to me now? Is this the end, then?"  
He smiled at her, relief softening the harsh lines of his face. "Had I known that I would be able to see you again, I would not have hesitated so long …"

"Severus, no!" She bit back a sob and clutched at him desperately with her left hand. "No! Don't say something like that. Don't even think it!"

"Hermione?" He frowned as he began to realise that she was not a vision or a hallucination. Black fire flared up in his eyes. "What are you doing here? How –" His gaze fell on Alina. "You _promised_ not to come back! And you not only disobey me, but you endanger my wife as well? Merlin! Hermione, don't let go. No matter what you do, don't let go of Alina."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Alina mumbled. Hermione almost winced at how tightly the girl was squeezing her hand. "But I had to. Hermione's been so worried."

"Severus, she's right. I have an audience with the Minister in two weeks. Andromeda is working on the Chalice. She's convinced that something went wrong. We'll get you out. Severus? Do you hear me?"

He had trouble focusing his eyes, and even in his dream he was shaking with weakness.

"Severus!" Hermione cried, wrapping her arm around him, pulling him as close to her as possible. "Don't you _dare_ to give up! I'll come for you. And I expect you to be alive _and_ sane when I do."

To her surprise, his lips twitched into the faintest echo of a smile. "You're quite bossy sometimes, do you know that?"

Hermione sniffed primly. "How else am I supposed to keep you safe?"

"Not at all, you foolish, foolish woman." But already he was reaching for her, trailing tender fingertips over the lines of her face, temples, cheekbones, jaw line, chin. "Very well," he murmured. "I shall do my best to stay alive for you. And sane. If you cannot wake me when you come for me, Alina should be able to call me back."

He turned to Alina. "But for Merlin's sake, do _not_ ring that bell again on your own. And don't attempt any other bell you might have found. You could have killed BOTH of you."

But then his arms wrapped around Hermione and he whispered into her ear, "Still – even if this is just a dream, I'm glad to see you … to feel you … even if it's just one last time."

**oooOooo**


	103. Eureka!

**Eureka!**

Sometimes Percy Weasley thought he must be a changeling left at the Burrow by mistake. Contrary to his rowdy, boisterous family and the cheerful chaos they called home, he preferred quiet and order. He liked records, documents, and files. He was obsessed with details. He enjoyed knowing the rules and following them. In short, he had little in common with his family.

However, there was one thing he and his father agreed about: _"Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brains."_

Percy didn't. Even though he contemplated leaving the wizarding world to study Muggle computers for a while. Or maybe _because_ of that. He had never forgotten Tom Riddle's diary.

He _loathed_ the Chalice of Neith.

It was a cheap way out, as he saw it. Meting out justice, arriving at the right decision _ought_ to be hard, in his opinion. It was a difficult duty. It shouldn't be shunted off to magical devices. Of course human beings (wizards and Muggles alike) made mistakes. No matter how much they wanted to do what they thought was right. And didn't he know that? But magical items were not infallible either. And the idea that the Chalice was _"impossible to manipulate"_ only made him more suspicious. If there was one thing he'd learnt from growing up with Fred and George, then it was that _anything _could be manipulated. It merely took longer to manipulate some things.

After two weeks of sleeping at the Ministry, Percy Weasley was one of three living experts on the Chalice of Neith. The other two were his boss, Andromeda Tonks-Black, and an Egyptian Muggle, a specialist for ancient mythology at the university of Cairo.

Now it was late at night on September 2, 2000. And Percy was blinking wearily at the piece of parchment in front of him. Therefore it took a while for him to notice what exactly he was looking at.

Or rather, what he was _not_ looking at.

A moment later, a scream shattered the late-night quiet of the Ministry offices of Justice Andromeda Tonks-Black.

"Eureka!" Percy Weasley yelled. "I FOUND it!"

**oooOooo**

A double period with Gryffindors and Slytherins in the Potions dungeon had never been a pleasant experience for Hermione as a student. Things had not improved during her assistantship. And facing the Advanced Potions class of the new Seventh Years was only Potions Horror ™ advanced to the power of seven, as far as she was concerned.

_I should not even be standing here,_ she thought miserably. She was acutely aware that she didn't have the knowledge and the experience necessary to prepare a class for their NEWTs. Of course she knew their lessons' plan by heart. She'd even dared to write down some ideas for possible improvements on a piece of parchment. But that didn't change the fact that she'd woken three times last night from nightmares that involved students asking her questions which she couldn't answer.

But most of all, this class – more than any other class – reminded her of her husband. It was the class she'd never had with him, something she still regretted. Hermione bit down on her lip and straightened up, drawing her shoulders back.

Until Severus came back, she would simply have to do the best she could.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Professor Snape is temporarily absent from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Until he returns I have the honour to teach this class. Please open your books so we can discuss your schedule."

**oooOooo**

"Hermione, you should sit down," Minerva advised. Her gaze strayed to the shelf with her whisky bottles.

Hermione swallowed drily. It was not a good sign if Minerva was considering to offer her a fortifying dram at two pm on a school day. She took a deep breath and perched on the edge of one of the leather wingback chairs in front of Minerva's fireplace.

"They'll be here in a minute." The Scottish burr in the voice of the Headmistress was more pronounced than ever.

"Did – did they –" Hermione didn't dare to finish the sentence.

But the flicker in Minerva's eyes was answer enough.

**oooOooo**

"WHAT?" Hermione yelled and jumped to her feet. "WHAT?"

The lines around Andromeda's mouth deepened. But Percy Weasley glowed and beamed. "I discovered it last night.  
"Registry Office weddings became legal in the year after Voldemort's first downfall. It was a time of complete chaos. The Ministry was a mess, worse than now." He flinched at the glare of his boss, but continued all the same. "I have the relevant documentation right here," he thumped a fat pile of parchments, "_and_ we've got pensieved expertises of the curse-breaker Ewan Grant and the Unspeakable no. 007."

He glanced at Andromeda in order to ask her permission to continue with his explanation. All he got was a curt nod. Andromeda had taken it upon herself to present his findings in a short summary to the Headmistress, Harry and Hermione, but she seemed to prefer to leave the explanations to her assistant.

Percy took a deep breath and continued, trying to ignore how hot his cheeks suddenly felt.

"When the Chalice pronounced your marriage null and void, the judges – and everybody else, really – _assumed_ that the verdict said you married Severus Snape only to keep him out of prison._That_ would have been obstruction of justice, a crime in itself, a reason to revoke his probation, and the beginning of his life sentence in Azkaban.  
"As it turns out, this was not the case at all!  
"The Chalice could not pass a correct verdict on the legitimacy of your marriage, because it simply did not _know_ that Registry Office marriages are legal to start with. It was never updated with that information. It was still working under the assumption that only magical marriages performed according to the old rites are legal. And …" Percy cleared his throat. "All of those … demand consummation of marriage during the wedding night."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** I guess all of you know what "assume" does? That is, make an "ass" out of "u" and "me"?

The Chalice was supposed to contain all the wizarding laws and history. Only it didn't. And as it wasn't used often, the problem was never discovered until Percy Weasley came a long and plowed through the records of the Chalice updates of several hundred years. Yes, bureaucrats can be heroes, too.


	104. Sad News

**Sad News**

MURDERS IN AMERICA – FIVE FAMILIES WIPED OUT

_Five families of Muggle-born wizards discovered dead at campsite in Yellowstone Park._

On Thursday, September 7, five wizarding families were discovered dead in their tents at a small campsite in a remote corner of Yellowstone Park. Three women – Camilla Perkins, Hestia Silverman, Jenny Thomson – and two men – James Orbison and Peter Radcliff – were graduates of Salem Academy. All of them had married Muggle.

Every year they spent a holiday together, camping in a national park together with their children and familiars.

Along with their parents, five children and an unborn baby were killed. Three of them were already confirmed to have magical abilities. Two children, currently attending Salem Academy, have survived the tragedy.

The Secret Service of Sorcerers (SSS) has examined the site of the crime, so far without any results …

**oooOooo**

"All members of the staff except Madam Pomfrey and Mr. Filch are needed in the staff room after breakfast, please!" The face of Headmistress McGonagall was very pale and her voice was shaking slightly, as she hurried towards the High Table five minutes too late on Friday morning.

Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Draco. The bowl of steaming porridge in front of her suddenly looked a lot less appetizing than mere seconds earlier. But Minerva McGonagall sat down without a word or a glance at her colleagues. Whatever had happened would have to wait until the meeting.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione drizzled honey over her porridge and began to eat. She needed her strength, with a full school-day ahead of her, complete with the horror of Advanced Potions, the Little Monsters aka the new First Years and two Study Groups to supervise in the afternoon. But it was hard to keep eating as if nothing had happened, when each time Minerva McGonagall tried to stir her tea, she trembled so hard that her spoon crashed noisily against the porcelain.

**oooOooo**

"Ladies and Gentlemen, professors." Minerva inhaled deeply. "I have sad news."

Hermione started, clapping her hands to her mouth to suppress a scream. It couldn't – it mustn't –

"The parents and siblings of two of our students were murdered last night."

Oh God.  
_It's not Severus._  
Oh God.  
Killed?  
_Not Severus._ But – killed?

Hermione's hands curled convulsively around the armrests of her highback chair.

"Just before breakfast I was informed by the Head of the Office of Aurors that the families of Alyah Beiond and Barret Cruddace have been killed.  
"Ardashir and Felicity Beiond and their two twin sons Koroush and Mehrdad, Anne and Phillipp Cruddace and their baby-daughter Vera are dead.  
"Felicity was Muggle-born, as were Anne and Phillipp." Minerva McGonagall's hands shook slightly as she put the parchment down that obviously contained the official notice of the murders. "There is – again – no trace of the killers, although the Aurors arrived at the Beiond household at a time when – when – the bodies were still – still – warm." Minerva's voice was very quiet. "Alyah and Barret are in the Hospital Wing at the moment. Alyah has distant relations in Iran. Barret has a Muggle uncle in Cornwall. It will take some time until everything is settled regarding the funerals and their guardianship. I ask all members of the staff to provide as much assistance they can. I will inform the students before lunch. Before the newspapers arrive."

**oooOooo**

Hermione was scared.

She was well prepared. But then she was _always_ well prepared.

She was still scared.

She had the complete documentation of the updates of the Chalice of Neith. She had the expertises of Ewan Grant and the Unspeakable 007, as well as Percy Weasley and Andromeda Tonks-Black to back her up.

But she was _still _scared.

Harry met Hermione at the visitors' entrance of the Ministry and escorted her to the Minister's office. Percy accompanied them, carrying a last-minute stack of folders for Hermione. Both wizards assured her that nothing could go wrong. She did trust them, after all. Hermione tried to smile at them and failed miserably.

She was still scared.

She had to go to the audience with the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, on her own. A life depended on the decision of the Minister. On how she presented their case. And not just any life. _The life of her husband._

She was so horribly, horribly scared.

**oooOooo**

Her feet sank deeply into the lush Persian carpet in the Minister's office. The watch-wizards scowled at her, their wands at the ready. Then Shacklebolt was there, splendid in pin-striped robes and turban. But he smiled at her readily and grasped her hand to squeeze it reassuringly. He was still tall and dark. But he didn't look as friendly as she remembered him. There were lines in his face she didn't recall and a hard light to his eyes. But his voice was as pleasantly deep and rumbling as when they were introduced in the months before Voldemort's defeat.

"Please sit down, Hermione. And now tell me what in Merlin's namehas been going on in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Hermione sank down on the chair he indicated and inhaled deeply. _Now or never._

"Sir, it's really a huge misunderstanding. The verdict that sent my husband to Azkaban was not correct, because the Chalice of Neith was not appropriately updated concerning all wizarding laws. Therefore it based its decision on the wrong legal premises. Please, sir. You need to issue a pardon. You need to release my husband from Azkaban."

Shacklebolt frowned. "Exactly which laws are you referring to, Hermione?"

Heat crept into her cheeks. She concentrated on the blue letter-weight on Shacklebolt's desk. "The changes made in the 1982 _'Magical Marriage and Divorce Bill'_ were never put into the Chalice."

"What changes were that?" Shacklebolt asked.

"The ones that didn't require consummation of marriage according to the old rites for Registry Office weddings." Hermione couldn't meet the Minister's eyes.

"Hermione. Are you trying to tell me that the Chalice of Neith sent Snape to Azkaban because you're still a virgin?"

**oooOooo**


	105. Grateful Dead

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo **

**Grateful Dead**

"This," Shacklebolt said solemnly, "is a ministerial pardon. It is irrevocable. Your husband will be free tonight."

She stared at the scroll. Three heavy seals dangled from the parchment: small and red, the official Ministry seal; medium-sized and blue, the Minister's personal seal; and last but not least, huge and golden, the seal attributed to Arthur Pendragon, irrevocable, and infused with mythical and magical powers.

Kingsley gazed at Hermione with his cocoa-coloured eyes. His voice was smooth as honey. "I do understand that magical law and wizarding society required a trial for Severus Snape. After all, he _did_ kill Albus Dumbledore and was present at other murders, if perhaps not directly involved. But whatever Severus Snape has done, whatever he _had_ to do – without him, we could never have defeated Voldemort."

The Minister sighed. "I cannot express adequately how sorry I am that your marriage was used as a reason to put him into Azkaban. This is a perversion of justice unworthy of the wizarding world."

Shacklebolt straightened. "I assure you, the Chalice of Neith will be put where it belongs now: into a _museum_."

A knock sounded at the door. "That will be Harry. I assume you'll want to go to Azkaban right away in order to retrieve your husband." The minister's eyes darkened with sympathy, as he continued, "I've given orders that the costs for any medi-magical services you should require will be covered by the Ministry."

"Thank you, Minister," Hermione whispered. She felt dizzy, light-headed with relief and fear.

**oooOooo**

So this was Azkaban.

A dreary rock in the North Sea, frozen and weather-beaten, the epitome of hopelessness. And that was an _improved_ and _cheerful _Azkaban, an Azkaban _without_Dementors as guards. But Harry could sense their presence all the same, in the cold that seeped into his bones, his heart and his thoughts within mere seconds after his arrival, in the way the colours faded around him, leaving only black and shades of grey, grief and guilt.

He shoved some chocolate into his mouth and another piece into Hermione's hand. He tried to remember what Lupin had told him, just a few years ago at Hogwarts, about how bad memories made the effects of Dementors worse.

Harry had even more bad memories now than he'd had back then.

He glanced at Hermione. White-faced and shaken, she was clearly carrying her own share of horrible memories by now._More than her share,_ he thought bitterly. Quickly he reached for her hand and squeezed it hard, as they followed a watch-wizard in the grey robes of Azkaban to cellblock C.

"Just a few minutes, and we're out of here, Hermione. Poppy, Mugwort and Alina are waiting for us at Hogwarts. Everything will be okay."

_Hopefully._

**oooOooo**

Hermione dashed into the cell as soon as the guard tossed open the heavy iron door. A moment later, Harry heard the sound of choked sobs, and Hermione appeared again, her eyes wild and blurred with tears.

His heart tightened. _She _really_ loves Snape, _he thought._ She truly does. Just the way I love Ginny. _Shit._ Who'd have thought that's possible._

"Ha– Harry – I – I need your robes, and I – I can't get him up on my own."

She was trembling all over. Harry was out of his robes and holding them out to Hermione the moment he stepped into the cell.

He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings – and stopped dead.

The cell was icy. A crenel high in the left-hand wall was the only window, just wide enough to let in wind and rain and almost no light. The stones of the walls and the floor were dark and damp. Snape lay on the floor in the farthest corner of the tiny room, curled into ball, unconscious, intermittent shivers chased over his skin. The man was completely naked and rail-thin. Bruises darkened his back, his ribs, hips and thighs.

Obviously Dementors were not the only beings you needed to be scared of in Azkaban.

A fine rage was beginning to simmer in Harry's blood. He'd never _liked_ the man who lay in the corner of this dungeon. But he owed him so much. And no one, _no one_, deserved to be reduced to – to this – this husk, this shell of a human being.

The watch-wizard's smirk was not lost on him. Harry glared at the guard and was gratified to see how the swarthy man wilted under his stare.

Harry strode over to Hermione's side. She had dropped to her knees next to her husband and was carefully wrapping him into Harry's robes now.

"If you support him from the left, and I from the right, we should manage," Harry suggested. Hermione nodded shakily. Between the two of them, they eventually got Snape up, if not exactly on his feet.

"Too bad you can't use wand-magic in here," Harry muttered. The corridors and stairs to the Apparition point seemed endless. But at last they arrived. Harry narrowed his eyes at Hermione. If she wasn't able to Apparate safely, they needed more help.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "If you don't feel up to it, we can get more help. It will only take a few minutes."

Hermione inhaled a shuddering breath, clutching the lifeless weight of her husband closer. "I'm – I can do it."

Suddenly her eyes grew round as she really looked at Harry for the first time since they had entered the prison. "You're wearing a _'Grateful Dead'_ t-shirt to Azkaban??"

Harry glanced down a the ratty t-shirt that hung haphazardly over his Levis 501 and grinned. "Not my idea. Duds has developed a weird sense of humour lately. He seemed to think it would be an appropriate statement."

"Wait a minute, Harry – _Dudley Dursley _gave you a t-shirt of an American rock-band to wear to Azkaban today?"

Harry's grin broadened. "Yep. He did."

He tightened his grip on Snape and reached for Hermione's free hand at the same time.

"Let's get your husband home, shall we?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** It is my personal, possibly OOC hope, that Harry stayed in contact with the Dursleys in spite of it all, and that Dudley at least has changed and matured somewhat. Therefore, in my personal magical universe, Harry and Dudley get along by now, even if they are not exactly friends.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	106. Not Good At All

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Not Good At All**

They arrived with a CRACK at a discreet spot just beyond the gardens of Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall, along with Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort, were already waiting for them. Alina stood a few feet away, small and pale, her hands clutching the smallest Necromantic bell to her chest.

With Harry's help Hermione lowered her husband's tall frame to the ground. Snape did not gain consciousness or react in any way to the change of his surroundings. He simply lay on the damp green grass in black robes that were much too short for him. Now and again a wrenching shudder gripped his body.

Healer Mugwort and Madam Pomfrey moved towards Snape at once, their wands drawn, their expressions grim, Hermione took a step back. Desperately, she twisted her fingers together. A sudden shiver ran down her spine and made her tremble. Suddenly a strong hand gripped her elbow and steadier her. "Take a deep breath, girl," Minerva McGonagall's voice admonished her, the deep roll of her r's betraying the fact that the Headmistress was not as composed as she appeared to be. "You brought him back."

Hermione swallowed hard and exhaled deeply. But her knees remained wobbly. In front of her, the two witches finished their diagnostic spells. When Mugwort flicked her wand, Severus' body obediently lifted to float in the air, with Harry's robes trailing on the ground below him.

Madam Pomfrey stepped up to Hermione and Minerva. Her face was set in grim lines.

"He's alive, but we cannot wake him. You'll need the help of that little girl to bring him back from wherever he escaped to." The Hogwarts matron cast a sympathetic glance at Alina. Then she turned to Hermione and spoke in a lowered voice. "He's suffering from dehydration, malnutrition and hypothermia. He was beaten up and raped. However, _if_ we can bring him back, I don't think he has sustained any life-threatening injuries. His mental state is of course a different matter."

Hermione just stared at the lifeless form of her husband as it hovered above the green grass. She'd never noticed before how lush and green the grass still was in September. Her fingernails bit painfully into her palms.

Next to her someone inhaled deeply. She looked up and realised that Harry was still there – and he was looking positively murderous. "That guard," he ground out between gritted teeth. "He'll wish he'd _never_ been born."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed appreciatively. But Mugwort met Harry's eyes squarely. "If his guards had been Dementors, Mr. Potter, your friend's husband might even be dead by now. What kind of guards did you expect in a place like Azkaban? Teddy-bears? And now I suggest that we get going."

**oooOooo**

Healer Mugwort turned to Hermione and reached for her hands. Her grip was strong and solid. Hazel eyes met Hermione's without hesitation. "He has suffered through worse before. And he is no longer alone. He may not be able to show that, but it _will_ make a difference."

Hermione nodded mutely. She wanted to believe the Healer's words. But she felt so horribly helpless.

"Here," Mugwort said and pressed a jar of bruise balm into Hermione's hands. "We'll treat his injuries while he's floating around in limbo. Then you and that little Necromancer can bring him back."

**oooOooo**

He was fragile under her fingers. She could count his ribs. His skin felt like paper, thin and dry. Her gentle ministrations seemed to leave more bruises instead of healing the ones that already disfigured his body.

It was strange to touch him in such an intimate manner while he was unconscious. Especially as he had been so careful not to expose himself to her like this before, always keeping back, always withdrawing whenever they had come too close.

But Madam Pomfrey and especially Healer Mugwort made it easier. Both women kept up a running commentary about what they did and why – salves to ease bruises and lacerations, inside and out, spells to fuse together broken ribs and charms to warm his body slowly. Curiously enough they used a Muggle device to combat his dehydration: an IV that serenely floated midair next to the four poster bed.

The healers were very matter-of-factly and confident in what they did. They never seemed to notice his nakedness, his helplessness, the tears in Hermione's eyes or her shaking hands. That helped. And disconcerting as it was, it also helped that Severus remained unconscious and unaware the whole time they treated him.

**oooOooo**

"Alina?" Hermione's voice echoed in the corridor. "We need you now."

Alina jumped, her heart racing. It had been awful to wait in the corridor in front of the entrance to the private quarters of her Head of House. Every now and again one of her friends had peeked around the corner at the far end of the hallway, but none had dared to come closer. Rumours were flying faster than eagle-owls between the Houses. By now there was probably no pupil in Hogwarts who didn't know that Professor Snape had been brought back.

Alina nodded and clutched her bell closer. They'd talked about it and decided that it would be best if Alina put Hermione to sleep so they could both go and look for Professor Snape, because Hermione was more likely to find him. But only Alina could bring him back. The really tricky part was that they couldn't risk to ring the bell where Professor Snape might hear it, because they didn't know what it would do. So they had to do that in Hermione's quarters. The Headmistress had even bespelled Hermione's bedroom, to keep the sound of the bell Ranna contained. Once Alina and Hermione were asleep, Healer Mugwort would look in on them, while Madam Pomfrey would guard Professor Snape.

Alina took a deep breath. Hermione looked awful. Her face was white. Her lips, too. Her hair was as wild as her eyes.

She looked so horribly _scared_.

It wasn't good if adults looked that scared. Not good at all.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Abuse and violence occur even in prisons in countries with (mostly) working legal systems (though statistically mostly between prisoners). There are still many countries in the world where prisoners are tortured and human rights are violated on a daily basis. If you are interested in more information about such matters, I recommend the organization and website "Human Rights Watch" (hrw DOT org). In the wizarding world with its lack of accountability and true rule of law, I expect that the replacement guards at Azkaban were not much better than Dementors. You may assume that Harry will be trying to improve the situation. But that it will be a long and tedious process.


	107. Hold Me in Peace

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Hold Me in Peace**

The darkness was not as frightening as before. Now Hermione knew what to expect. But the river was closer this time, its rushing voice strangely spellbinding. Alina's grip tightened painfully on her hand as they wandered the banks of the River of Death.

**oooOooo**

"Severus. I'm here. You're free. Please open your eyes. We've brought you home. You're at Hogwarts now. We've got a ministerial pardon. You're free. Please wake up. Severus? Do you hear me?"

**oooOooo**

Far away he heard her voice. He remembered when he'd heard it first. Just a little while ago, it seemed. It had been higher then, a child's voice, raised in an eager question. Distantly he marvelled at the miracle of time that had taken away the foolhardy, nosy, annoying child and left a woman in its place, a courageous, intelligent, _annoying _woman.

_You're free._

But there was _her hand_ on his and he could feel her frantic pulse. And at her side, he sensed the presence of another Necromancer – the girl, Alina. So young, so horribly young. Already so strong. With no one to teach her. _Damn_ that coward Quirrell.

_Free._

Weariness flowed over him, threatened to tow him under. Deep darkness beckoned beyond the cold, swift currents of the river. Velvet skies and blazing stars. Soothing silence.

_Free._

Lips pressed down on his mouth. Soft and hot. Gentle and demanding. Fire raced through his veins. His heart thumped in his chest. An awkward, one-armed embrace tethered him to existence. Salty tears that dripped onto his neck reminded him of his thirst. A thirst that no river could slake, least of all the one he lay next to.

He opened his eyes. She was lovely even in this shadowy realm. She was _his_.

"Hermione."

**oooOooo**

The noise of the river faded. Mists enveloped her. She felt incredibly light. She could have floated away.

Insistent hands kept tugging at her. Annoyed, Hermione opened her eyes. Alina was pulling at her arm as if she was trying to wrench it from its socket.

"I'm …" She shook her head and blinked lids heavy as lead. Her voice sounded blurred as if she'd had too much to drink. "I'm awake, Alina. Stop that."

She managed to prop herself up on her elbows. Suddenly someone was at her side and helped her sit up. Healer Mugwort.

"Looks like we're all back," Hermione rasped and shivered. Her clothes were damp and her skin cold, as if she'd taken a walk through the foggy hills around Hogwarts.

Mugwort raised an eyebrow. "So I see. Drink this."

The healer put a vial to Hermione's lips. Hermione swallowed obediently. It was Pepper-Up, the bite unmistakable and not entirely unpleasant. Heat flowed through Hermione's body and cleared the cobwebs from her mind. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Alina crawled across the bed to sit next to her like a small black-and-white kitten.

"I'm okay, Alina," Hermione said softly and reached for the child. "And – Professor Snape will be all right, too. Thanks to you."

She drew the girl against her. Hermione could feel how Alina was shaking. She bit down on her lip, torn between the need to rush to Severus' side and to comfort the girl who had saved him – _hopefully._

"Alina, Hermione has to go and see to Professor Snape now," Mugwort said calmly. "And I need to take a good look at _you_ and make sure that you're all right after this little adventure."

**oooOooo**

Hesitantly, Hermione opened the door. Poppy Pomfrey was bent over the still form of the Potions master. With her left hand she was taking his pulse, while performing a diagnostic spell with her right. When she noticed Hermione hesitating on the threshold, she nodded towards her.

Hermione inched into the room, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

At long last Poppy straightened up. "He is asleep now. Normal, ordinary, healthy sleep. His condition is stable and his physical injuries should heal within a few days without lasting consequences. As for the rest …" She cast a pitying look at the still form of the black-haired man. "Let him sleep and heal. Be with him. Stay calm."

_Hope for the best. Be prepared for the worst._

But the Hogwarts matron did not say that. She just smiled encouragingly at Hermione and briefly squeezed her arm, as she brushed passed Hermione on her way to the door.

**oooOooo**

He looked alien among the warm earth colours that dominated his bedroom, all stark contrast of blacks and whites. Black hair, fading black bruises, black pyjamas. White linen, sallow skin. Severus lay on his back, perfectly still, his lank hair spread out on the pillow. His breaths were shallow, but unforced and comforting in their regular rhythm.

For a long moment Hermione simply watched her husband breathing.

_You're back,_ she thought. _You're free. You're safe. And oh God, how much I love you._

She took a deep, relieved breath. But the inhalation turned into a face-splitting yawn. The excitement of the last weeks changed into exhaustion and came to rest on her shoulders with a heavy weight.

Still yawning, Hermione crept around the bed. She extracted her nightshirt from underneath her pillow and unfolded it. Today the objects that lay inside made her smile. She circled the bed once more and carefully laid Severus' wands on his bedside-table within easy reach.

With another yawn, Hermione put on her nightshirt. She crawled under the covers. The linen felt good on her skin, clean and crisp. She slid towards Severus. Although his perfume had faded from his skin, she could still smell the base notes of the fragrance she'd come to associate with him. Spicy, earthy. _Complex. _Hermione felt a slow smile curl up the corners of her mouth. _Complex indeed._ As she listened to the soothing sound of his breathing, a deep sense of peace settled on her. She snuggled closer and put her arms around her husband, to hold him while he slept and healed.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **"Hold me in peace while sleeping. Wake me with the sun's smiling. With pure water slake my thirst. Let me be merry in your love."  
- Madeleine L'Engle


	108. Wake Me

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

oooOooo

Wake Me

Hermione woke first. She woke slowly. For the first time in weeks she didn't startle awake, jumping from nightmares into wakefulness with nausea wrenching her stomach and her mind reeling. Instead she became gradually aware of warmth and darkness. She lay with her eyes closed. A subtle scent of spices enveloped her, and the soft sound of breathing drifted to her ears.

Suddenly her heartbeat quickened and her stomach tightened.

She opened her eyes.

**oooOooo**

They lay on their sides, facing towards the middle of the bed. Her left hand and his right hand were stretched towards each other, almost touching, but not quite.

Hermione sucked in her breath and tried to calm the nervous beating of her heart. She could feel her rapid pulse inside her throat.

_He was here. He was –_ Tears sprang to her eyes as the events of the day before replayed with horrifying clarity in her mind.

Azkaban. By the time they had reached cellblock C, it was an effort to move. In spite of the chocolate Harry kept pressing on her at random intervals. She'd felt so weak that all she wanted to do was to lean against the cold, damp walls and slide down to the ground. In the narrow gloom of a winding staircase mounting the next step had turned into such a supreme effort she didn't even have the strength to cry.

At that point it occurred to Hermione that she counted her erstwhile Boggart as one of her happier moments by now. This thought was so bizarre it dispelled her stupor sufficiently to be able to ascend the last steps.

And then there had been no time to think anymore at all.

She blinked away her tears and looked at his face as he slept. Always thin and bony, his face was gaunt now, the cheeks hollow, his eyes lying deep in the skull. The lines in his face, that cut into his forehead between his eyebrows and that bracketed his mouth formed deep crevices.

OH GOD, the way she had found him in that cell. A silent scream rose in her mind. To see him like that, nude, exposed, abused, helpless, after what she _knew_ had happened to him before – but knowing, knowing is not seeing – her whole body tensed at the memory. Involuntarily her left hand brushed against his.

He opened his eyes. For a moment Severus stared at her in confusion. Then he stilled, his body coiled, ready to spring, as his gaze focused, black and piercing as ever. Hermione bit down on her lip until it hurt. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but she didn't even dare to blink. A tear escaped, sliding from the corner of her right eye down to the pillow. Another flowed down to her left nostril.

Severus exhaled softly. With his breath, the tension drained from his body. He regarded her with glittering eyes.

Unsteadily he moved his right arm. He frowned at his weakness. His expression turned to one of intense concentration, as he brought his hand up to her face. Gently he caressed her cheek and nose, his index-finger and middle-finger slightly curled. In the air above him, the IV followed his movements like a strange, translucent buoy.

"Surely you do not cry for me?" His voice was harsh and hoarse, almost like during the first days of his recovery in the previous year. "I'm here, Hermione. I'm here." He coughed painfully. "Free, I presume."

She nodded vigorously.

"If not," he grimaced, stretched stiffly and glowered at the IV, "completely unharmed."

Her eyes spilled over in a flood of silent tears. He dropped his hand to hers, covering her fist with his hand. Curling his long, slender fingers around hers, he forced her fist open, until he could take her hand.

For a long while they lay in silence, as Hermione cried and Severus held her hand.

"I wasn't there, Hermione. Whatever they did –" A dead look settled in his eyes, leaving them as hard and uncompromising as obsidian. "– they did it to an empty shell."

Hermione winced. Her fingers intertwined with Severus', holding on tight.

"But," her voice was thick with tears and suppressed horror. "But this, this body, that _is_ you."

"It is _now_." He caught her gaze. "Because _you_ and Alina woke me. It wasn't _then_ and there."

A frown creased his forehead. The skin tightened around his eyes, until the veins at his temples shone through the pale skin with a blue-green shimmer.

The evidence of pain in her husband's face overcame her emotional turmoil. Hermione sat up. "Poppy's left several things for you. Calming Draught and a Pain Potion, more bruise balm and something –" Hermione concentrated on the duvet, trying to discern the individual threads that made up the fabric. "– something to heal … inner lacerations and prevent infection."

Hermione got up quickly and moved to his side of the bed, picking up the Pain Potion first. Following her movements, Severus turned onto his back. Judging from the way he narrowed his eyes, she thought that this position must be more uncomfortable. She bit down on her lips and uncorked the phial. Knowing better than to try to just feed a potion to a Potions Master, she held the small glass bottle out to him so he could smell it. "It's from your own stock."

He nodded, his lips thinning at his increasing discomfort. "Make that two doses, please."

She did. To her surprise and apprehension, he also accepted the Calming Draught, a triple dose of it. "I have not succumbed to substance abuse, Hermione," he commented, when he noticed her surreptitious glance at him. "But due to … my way of life I've acquired an unfortunately high threshold level for many medicinal potions."

When she picked up the pots with the salves, he shook his head. "If –" He scowled at her. "If you could maybe help me to the bathroom. I would … much prefer to do _that_ myself."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title still refers to the quote from Madeleine L'Engle, "Hold me in peace while sleeping. Wake me with the sun's smiling. With pure water slake my thirst. Let me be merry in your love." 


	109. Slake My Thirst

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture, as well as sexual situations.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Slake My Thirst**

Hermione hovered near the door, discomfited and worried. He had needed her help to reach the bathroom. Even so their progress had been slow and unsteady. She nervously sucked on her lower lip. She understood his need for privacy. But what if he collapsed in the bathroom?

Her stomach roiling, she paced. Window, door, window. Door.

"Hermione? I – I think I need –" She winced at the undertone of bitter disgust in his voice. But she didn't hesitate for a second and simply opened the door, keeping her head down.

"Can I help you with something?"

"I am … a little stiff."

She snorted, taking refuge to sarcasm. "An understatement if ever I heard one."

She looked up, meeting his familiar scowl. His forbidding expression made her feel better instantly. Freshly showered, his hair still damp, Severus sat on a thick green towel that covered the toilet lid, holding onto the washbasin with his left hand. He was wearing only his pyjama bottoms. The bruises on his front had faded to pale shadows, while the ones on his back still stood out in stark contrast, green and black splotches on sallow skin.

His eyes glittered dangerously. "Would you prefer me to whine and wail?"

But the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch ever so slightly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You? Whine and wail? As if you'd ever. But it's good to hear you gnash your rather formidable teeth and snarl at me again."

She stepped forwards and took the jar from him. "Allow me, please."

Wordlessly, he leaned against the washbasin, placing his forehead onto his arms. His black hair fell forwards like a curtain, hiding his face.

Hermione scrutinized his back. She swallowed hard.

Each vertebra was clearly outlined, pale skin stretched tight over the bones. The graceful curve of his ribs was painfully visible. The bruises and contusions had dulled compared to the previous day, but the discoloured marks that liberally spattered his back still indicated clearly that someone had done his level best to beat Severus Snape into a pulp. Hermione took a deep breath and scooped up some bruise balm. When her fingers made contact with his skin, Severus gasped and flinched.

"Sorry," she cried, afraid she'd hurt him even with that light touch.

But he shook his head. "No, no – it's all right. Go ahead."

This bruise looked like the imprint of a boot. Others, at his lower back, must be marks left by fingers clawing at his flesh. The spots near his neck might be wand marks. But the bruise balm was strong. The contusions faded visibly right under her fingers. Severus' breathing grew easier with each careful stroke. Indeed, judging from the way his breathing evened out, he seemed to enjoy her touches. Hermione began to lose herself in her task, rubbing and stroking with gentle, soothing fingers. She barely noticed when she was done, and medicinal ministrations turned into caresses. Only when he shivered under her hands, she jumped, mortified.

"I'm sorry, you must be cold, you need to go back to–"

For the first time since she'd begun, he raised his head. He captured her gaze. His black eyes were burning, his cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly parted. He licked his lips slowly, before he spoke, enunciating each word carefully, "I am not cold."

Even more embarrassed, Hermione dropped her gaze – and brought her head up sharply, when she was confronted with unmistakable evidence that he was indeed not feeling cold at all. He reached for her and clasped his hands around her wrists, drawing her towards him, until she was barely an inch away. "Not cold at all."

His hands slid around her waist, almost circling her slight girth. Now it was her turn to gasp. The blaze in his eyes intensified, but he made no move to pull her closer still.

"Unfortunately you are right. I think I should go back to bed." A wry smile flickered over his lips and he groaned, obviously suppressing a yawn in spite of his arousal. "And just to sleep, I'm afraid, for the time being."

Although her heart was pounding and her insides were almost liquid with desire, Hermione nodded. She lowered her head towards him and brushed her cheek against his. Their sighs mingled, soft and desirous.

"Sleep, dearest, and heal, and wake again to the sun's smiling."

"If I just wake to your smile," he murmured, his voice blurring with fatigue, "I'll be content."

**oooOooo**

When Hermione woke the next morning, she found him watching her. She allowed herself to become mesmerized by his intense black stare – she enjoyed the way his gaze caused an instant jolt of desire to erupt within her. Something changed in the depth of his eyes. As if a new spark struck smouldering embers. Her heart seemed to skip a beat before it resumed a frantic rhythm that pulsed in every fibre of her body. He shifted closer to her, until they lay just an inch apart. Like a wave, the warmth of his body flowed against her.

"Are you sure?" she asked worriedly.

An elegant black eyebrow quirked with amusement. "Shouldn't _I _be asking _you_ that question?"

"Hmpf." Her hands crept up to hide cheeks that burned with embarrassment, just to be curled away by long and nimble fingers.

She gasped at his touch. But she was still concerned. "Are you really sure that you …"

He scowled a little, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips were already parted, ready to kiss her. "Trust me, Hermione. A man _knows_ if he is able to do what I have in mind to do to you now." His right hand slid into her curls and to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Closer. _Closer._ Until he was only a breath away from kissing her.

"I feel a terrible thirst for you, Hermione. I cannot wait any longer."

"Then don't," she breathed.

A heartbeat later his lips covered hers.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title still refers to the quote from Madeleine L'Engle, "Hold me in peace while sleeping. Wake me with the sun's smiling. With pure water slake my thirst. Let me be merry in your love."

An additional double chapter with a much higher rating may be found at my blog in "The Apprentice and the Necromancer - Part 11". You can find the link to my blog on my profile page here at FFNet, and at my blog the link to "Apprentice" is in the left-hand sidebar.


	110. Curiouser and Curiouser

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Curiouser and Curiouser**

She lay curled up at his side, her left leg slung across his, her arm stretched over his chest, her head nestled into the crook of his arm. As if she wanted to make sure he wouldn't disappear. The lion's mane she called hair flowed all over him. He didn't even have to tilt his head to inhale her scent. Vervain, and she'd been using the Muggle variety of her bathing lotion again.

His body ached all over, inside and out. _His mind …_ He remembered one of the sayings Dumbledore had been so fond of.

_"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."_

A proverb that was wrong on so many levels. But it was the term _"well-organized"_ that bothered him this morning. His arm wrapped around Hermione's bony shoulders. His hand dipped into the wealth of her curls, playing with the recalcitrant strands until his fingertips found the gentle curve of her neck.

Severus felt a self-deprecating smile tug at the corners of his mouth. _"Well-organized"_ and _"in love" _were mutually exclusive terms. He'd watched enough love-struck couples over the years to know this for a fact. And … he _did _remember how it felt. _Distantly._ From days long gone and never completely forgotten. But the memory had changed, he realised. To the way you fondly remember the flickering flame of a fine candle as you sit entranced, ensconced, by the warmth of a roaring fire. He frowned. It seemed you were not safe from maudlin tendencies when you were in love even at his age.

His fingers strayed to Hermione's temple, brushing away a clump of curls, so he could reach her sensitive skin. She sighed at the touch of his lips and moved closer, pressing her curves against him, while her hand slipped into his pyjama.

"Good morning," she murmured. Her voice was throaty, hoarse with sleep.

Inwardly he cursed himself. She was exhausted, he should have let her wake on her own. But before he had a chance to say something, her hand crept carefully downwards. The sleepiness seeping out of her brown eyes even as he was watching. Instead they were beginning to gleam with an amber fire.

_ … need … desire … love …_

He pulled her on top of him, his hands framing her precious face. He traced her lips with his finger. A wide, generous mouth, the lower lip distinctly fuller. For once she was not chewing on it, but parted her lips lightly under his touch.

He lifted his head a little. She bent down. Their lips met.

**oooOooo**

"How are you feeling now?" Hermione asked afterwards, once more clinging to his left side like a bushy-haired human burr.

"Not so bad now," Severus murmured, although he felt utterly exhausted. The residue of pain in newly mended bones as well as the ache of assorted bruises and lacerations were increasing from a steady throb to insistent agony. But he did not feel bad. He was much too … he blinked. _Happy?_ It seemed such an alien concept. But he supposed he might be, or nearly. Safe. _Sort of_ sound. At home with the woman who loved him. With the woman _he_ loved.

Hermione propped herself up on her right elbow and looked down at him. She didn't hesitate anymore before touching him, but simply brought her hand up to his cheek. Gently, she trailed her fingertips around his face. Her touch was infinitely tender when she smoothed the lines of pain that he knew bracketed his mouth.

"Liar," she said softly. Then she slipped from the covers and circled the bed. "There's still enough Pain Potion left for a good dose." Hermione squinted at the jar of the bruise balm and at the Sunshine Salve intended for lacerations and more … interior injuries. "I might have to Floo up to Poppy and get more of this."

"I trust you will dress before you do so," he commented.

Hermione grinned at him impishly. Dressed only in naked skin and curls – a riotous cloud around her head, a tamer triangle above the apex of her thighs – she looked very much like an imp: mischievous and wild.

"Maybe I will. Although Poppy's seen me naked before and I'd be quicker back in bed with you if I didn't bother."

"In that case, ask her for some cough potion as well, so we can start treating your incipient pneumonia well in advance."

**oooOooo**

Harry frowned at himself as his feet were automatically taking him to Draco's office. When had the Ferret become the one he turned to as a friend and confidant at the end of every other day?

Before he could knock, Draco's smooth voice was already calling out to him, "I'm almost ready – come in, Potter."

He slouched into the room and threw himself into the visitor's chair. Draco was momentarily invisible behind a wobbling stack of parchments that was being levitated towards a big shelf of square compartments that were labelled according to the various sections of the Office of Magical Law Enforcement.

"So how's your boss taking the disappointment?" Harry asked as he watched Draco separate the results of his daily labour into the appropriate cubby-holes.

A scroll stopped midair and started jittering, as Draco turned to Harry.

"That's just it," Draco said at last. "You'd have thought that Umbridge would be livid at the pardon, right? But she's not. She acts as if she couldn't care less that Snape's out of her reach for good now. But she's still gloating at having defeated _you_ in court."

"Curiouser and curiouser," commented Harry, idly rubbing his scar. "The dog did nothing at night-time. I don't like that."

"You and your Muggle quotes." Draco rolled his eyes, but his voice held no rancour. "How about some drinks in the Leaky Cauldron?"

"You just want to flirt with Hannah," Harry accused his friend.

Draco grinned unrepentantly. "And if I do? Besides, Ginny might show up, too, once she's finished at the Prophet."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title refers to "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland", of course.

"Sunshine Salve" refers to an expression for calendula coined by Chris Hafner; source: "The Book of Herbal Wisdom: Using Plants as Medicines" by Matthew Wood.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	111. The Muggleborns Protection Act

**The Muggle-borns Protection Act**

_(A few days later, in the office of the Headmistress) _

"They are going to force us to do WHAT?" Hermione's eyes blazed. Her curls were literally standing on end with fury. "That's disgusting. Muggle-borns aren't cattle that can be branded for their own good!"

Minerva McGonagall's lips tightened with disapproval. Behind her, the painted form of Albus Dumbledore was stooping in an attempt to look over Snape's shoulder and read the parchment the potions master was holding.

Severus ignored the former headmaster. Instead he lowered his head again to peruse the draft of the new law that Potter had handed over to him.

"THE MUGGLE-BORNS PROTECTION ACT" sprawled in garish Gothic letters at the top of a sheaf that was filled with the cramped writing of an unknown scribe of the Wizengamot.

The gist of the proposed law was quite simple.

All witches and wizards with one or two Muggle-parents had to present themselves to the Muggle-born Registration Commission to receive a tattoo infused with a special version of the Protean Charm. The charm would link the tattoos with a device at the Aurors' Office. If a tattooed Muggle-born was in danger of death, the tattoo would activate and instantly summon one of the Aurors currently on duty at the office.

"Do you truly believe that this foolishness will work?"

Harry wearily rubbed his scar. "I don't, Professor. But –"

Severus frowned. As he looked at Potter, he suddenly grew aware of the fact that his perception of the wizard had altered. Unobtrusively he studied the young man while Potter proceeded to explain the motivations and expectations of the Wizengamot.

A young wizard was standing before Severus, with a shock of untidy black hair and an unfortunate tendency to slouch. Brilliant green eyes that were still far too expressive for the line of work he had chosen. His glasses were no longer round, but formed fashionable, imperious rectangles. Only when Severus put his mind to it, he recognised the family likeness in the nonchalant posture and messy hair, in those clear eyes. With faint surprise, Snape realised that when he looked at Potter, he was no longer seeing Lily Evans' and James Potter's son or The-Boy-Who-Lived.

He merely saw Harry Potter. Auror-in-training, youngest member of the Wizengamot. Best friend of his wife. And a man who had done his level best to save his life.

Severus scowled at the young man.

"Severus," he said curtly.

Potter jerked his head up, eyes suddenly alert and quite shocked. Severus' nostrils flared with faint amusement. "Call me Severus."

The room was absolutely silent all of a sudden.

Severus' scowl deepened. Everyone was staring at him, with varying expressions of shock evident in their faces. Then the faint, thudding sound of clapping hands broke the silence. Severus glared at Dumbledore. As a painting the man was only marginally less annoying than in life.

_And whom did he think he was he fooling? In spite of it all, in spite of the old man's Machiavellian schemes and his ruthlessness, in spite of his sometimes callous cruelty, his stubborn pride, in spite of it all, he – _Severus pressed his lips tightly together. He still missed the man, most of all in the presence of his portrait. Hermione caught his gaze, and the warm understanding in her eyes was a shock all over again.

He turned back to more immediate concerns. Potter was still gaping at him like a mooncalf.

"You – may – call – me – Severus, Potter."

The young wizard swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. He blinked. Then he grinned. _"Harry,"_ he said. "Only if _you_ call me Harry."

Severus looked down his nose at the young wizard, irritation rising inside him. It didn't help that he was well aware of the fact that the lips of his wife were quivering with mirth.

He sniffed, affecting his best supercilious Potions Master's manner. "Very well. – _Harry._"

_Harry _grinned. Surprisingly, he didn't insist on having the last word in the banter, but returned to the topic at hand.

"The law will be passed this week. People are frightened, the Wizengamot is scared, and the International Confederation of Wizards endorses the plan. Though Draco thinks that they are simply happy that the British wizards are going to play Guinea pigs. _Err…_ Murtlaps." Harry looked disgusted. "I'm getting a tattoo, as well."

"You?" Hermione asked. "But you're not Muggle-born at all."

"But he _is_ the perfect poster-boy of the wizarding world." Severus smirked at Harry's scowl. "You still need to work on that expression, Pot– _Harry._"

Harry snorted. "Maybe you can give me lessons, _Severus_? But yes, you're right. They need a face for the campaign. Someone people … fancy. And I'm it."

"So you don't think this plan will work, Severus?" Minerva eyed the parchment as if it was a particularly slimy flobberworm.

He shook his head. "Those killers are experts. They pick their victims carefully. Remote camping places, detached houses. Their timing is perfect. They Apparate in, cast _'Avada Kedavra'_ and Disapparate again. Those tattoos will accomplish exactly three things: they will afford the Wizengamot the comfortable illusion of having done something, although they haven't done anything at all, create a false sense of security that will make Muggle-born witches and wizards less careful than is currently advisable … and it will assure that the bodies of future victims will be warm when the Aurors find them."

"Then you do believe there will be more killings?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

He looked at his wife where she stood next to the Headmistress. Those silly curls. Chewing on her lower lip again. _Beautiful,_ he thought. _Brave. And Muggle-born._

Cold fear flooded him. He had to force himself to meet her eyes and reply with an honest answer. "Yes, I do. Why should they stop now? Their pattern is established and successful. They will continue as long as it fits their agenda. Or until they slip up and make a mistake. I sincerely doubt that the ministerial branding of Muggle-borns will accomplish that."

"Shit," Harry said succinctly.

"Indeed," Severus agreed.

**oooOooo**


	112. It Burns the Blood

**It Burns the Blood**

"Thank you for sharing your concerns with me," the Minister of Magic said and leant back in his wing-back chair. The gold hoop of his earring glinted. "Tea?"

"_Err…_ yes, thank you." Harry frowned.

"Excellent." Shacklebolt smiled, teeth gleaming whitely in his dark face. His smile was slow and calm, as if Harry's presentation of possible problems meant nothing to him. The Minister flicked his wand, and soon they sat sipping their tea in silence.

At last Shacklebolt put down his cup. "Harry, that's quite a list you've presented me with."

The scroll _had_ grown rather voluminous. However, Harry really didn't like the proposed law, and he was not on the relevant committee. He'd done his best to get Arthur Weasley to raise all the relevant points, but he wasn't sure if Arthur …

"Harry. Trust me, we've been over the points you're raised. And a fair few you missed. I _assure_ you that all possible precautions will be taken.  
"As Auror-in-training you know that we tried Charmed necklaces. The Cruddace family had them. But the seconds it takes for the victims to put their wands to them equals the time it takes the _perpetrators_ to orient themselves and aim their wands.  
"We assume that even _with the tattoos_ there'll be more murders. But even to have investigators on the scene immediately after an attack will increase our chances of catching the perpetrators. I understand your misgivings, young man. But right now we're all out of options."

**oooOooo**

"An Elhaz rune in a circle?" Hermione held the ministerial announcement at arm's length. Her forehead creased, as she contemplated the rune's properties and history. At last she wrinkled her nose. "I suppose it could be worse. It _is_ a rune of protection." She pondered the choice of the Ministry of Magic a moment longer. "The name is a reconstruction that represents the Proto-Germanic _'z'_," she informed him unnecessarily.

Hermione shifted into proper lecture stance: arms crossed with an imperious swirl of her robes, chin stuck out. The idea crossed Severus' mind that she was imitating him. Irritated, he narrowed his eyes at her. But it was obvious that she wasn't doing it on purpose. He was also well aware of the occasions when he'd used aggressive intellectualism to cover his apprehension himself.

"It may represent the antlers of an elk. Or the basic warding gesture. It symbolizes both spear and shield. The relevant reference in an Anglo-Saxon charm – _'and it burns with blood any man who in any way tries to grasp it' _– indicates that this rune is difficult to exploit by anyone but the original wielder. But –" Her frown deepened. "– it has _very_ unfortunate historical and political connotations in the Muggle world. It was–"

"Hermione, I may be a wizard, but I've not been living under a rock for the last twenty years," Severus interrupted her. "Contrary to your best mates Potter and Weasley, I _do_ read. And different from some of my _estimable_ colleagues the subscriptions _I_ take out are not limited to potions magazines."

The journals and magazines that arrived in his office every week covered indeed a wide range of topics. Besides potions and herbology magazines and Muggle pharmaceutical journals he perused a number of national and international academic and political periodicals, both magical and Muggle, on a semi-regular basis. At her stricken expression, Severus softened his tone. This new ministerial idiocy had both of them on edge. "I understand your misgivings. You know that I don't share Shacklebolt's optimism regarding the potential of this … safety-measure."

She snorted, but she relaxed a little, sitting down on the edge of his desk. Normally he would have reprimanded her for showing not enough respect, but for some reason he just couldn't summon the energy today. He glanced at the particulars. "Size of a Knut, position on the upper arm that is not your wand-side. And you can Disillusion it." Severus rubbed the scars that covered the inside of his left forearm. "Compared to certain precedents this is quite reasonable," he admitted grudgingly.

"If you enjoy feeling as if you've got a bit of raw egg stuck in your arm, I imagine it's just dandy." Hermione grimaced. "I guess there's something to be said in favour of being stuck in school robes all the time after all."

Unaccountably, the corners of his mouths quirked. "Not _all_ the time," he said silkily. He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, swiftly stepping towards her. His hands moved around her waist. She leant against him with a sigh. Even through the various layers of fabric that separated them, he could feel her breasts pressed against him. Hermione raised her head, her eyes lighting up with an amber fire that would probably never cease to surprise him. Somehow his hands had made their way to her neck. He loosened the ribbon that restrained her hair. That ludicrous mass of locks sprang free and tumbled over his fingers, feeling like satin and smelling like heaven.

"Kiss me," she demanded, as if it was completely reasonable for a beautiful young woman to stand in his study, clinging to the dreaded Potions Master of Hogwarts and attempting to summarily remove his robes and frock coat from his body. For a moment he frowned at her and wondered if this was truly happening to him. Or if it was only an illusion and he was really far away, locked up in a dark cell deep within the walls of Azkaban, watching a stranger who had usurped his body and a life of dreams so far-fetched Severus himself had never dared to dream them before.

But when he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, they were soft and warm and sweet and real. She nipped at his lower lip. Daring, wanton – a true Gryffindor in every way. Their tongues twined around each other, as his hands buried underneath her robes. Soon all thought slipped from his mind and only wonderment remained.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to the reviewers who came up with so many great ideas about how the tattoos can be abused or why they are a good idea. You're so right. All of you. Special props to Buckeybelle, for inspiring Shacklebolt's speech. 

The basic runelore in this chapter is derived from various online sources, Wikipedia and Bard Woodcrafts Wandery to name just two. The unfortunate connotations Hermione mentions refer to extremist right-wing organizations that use Futhark as their symbols.


	113. Promises and Politics

**Promises and Politics**

"Miss Petrel?"

Alina closed her book and peered up at her Head of House. Professor Snape was still very thin and pale. Sometimes he flinched at odd moments, a muscle in his jaw ticking. But he was back. _Alive._ And she'd watched him at dinner with his wife. The deep looks, fleeting smiles and surreptitious touches. They were so _cute _together.

Alina beamed up at him. "Yes, sir?"

Snape scowled at her. "I need to talk to you. As I can see from your reading material, you are finished with your homework. If you will accompany me?"

Her smile wilted under his withering stare. Alina swallowed drily. She'd known that he would want to talk to her eventually about … about _things_. But somehow, as the last three weeks had gone by, she'd begun to hope that maybe, just _maybe_ he'd forgotten about it. Of course she was smart enough to know that Professor Snape was not likely to forget either that she'd helped save his life _or _that she'd broken several promises she'd given to him in a row. _And put his wife in danger._

Alina steeled herself. _I'm a knight,_ she thought. _I did what I had to do._ _The results justify the means. _She straightened up and put her shoulder back. Head held high, she marched out of the Slytherin common room in the wake of her professor's swirling black robes.

**oooOooo**

"By now," Professor Snape said, "we can safely assume that your father hid all of his bells here at Hogwarts."

"But he also hid one with my mother," Alina piped up, then gulped as her Head of House fixed his glittering black stare on her.

"Indeed. Nevertheless," he went on, "I suspect that the remaining bells are here at Hogwarts. You will find them and bring them to me. Additionally you will hand over the bells already in your possession."

"But sir, I promised –"

"Your _promises_, Miss Petrel, seem to mean only that you will do what you see fit no matter what you promised or to whom."

Alina stared at her professor in shocked silence. _But,_ she wanted to say, _but I _had_ to, I couldn't just … _A raised black eyebrow seemed to challenge her to continue that thought.

Snape went on smoothly, "While I am not in a position to argue the results of your behaviour, since I may very well owe my life to you, I'd rather _not_ risk dangerous magical implements within your reach just now. You will bring your bells to me tonight. I expect you to discover the other bells before Easter. After the holidays you will commence studying the art of Necromancy with me.  
"Until then I suggest you consider how to ascertain that your promise means more than the letters the word is made up of.  
You may leave now."

He didn't seem to see the tears that were rushing down her cheeks as Alina bolted from his office.

**oooOooo**

"You really don't see it, do you, Harry?" Draco asked.

It was Sunday morning in Muggle London, and they'd met with Ginny and Hannah for brunch at a fancy restaurant.

Harry frowned testily at his confidante at the Ministry. Tomorrow he'd be tattooed – and interviewed by Rita Skeeter for the Daily Prophet. Apart from the smoked salmon on his plate and waking up next to Ginny this morning, there was not much he liked about the day.

"What? Draco, if you're so smart and I'm so dumb, just spill it and let's get it over with," Harry snapped.

Draco remained unfazed by Harry's temper. "You're still no politician, Harry. And sometimes I doubt you'll ever be. You've got to understand how Shacklebolt thinks. As my dear father always used to say _'I'm a politician – that means I'm a cheat and a liar and if I'm not kissing little witches, I'm stealing their broomsticks'."_

"What has that cliché to do with anything?"

"I think all of us agree that we have a bad feeling about the tattoos. No matter that they may do exactly what the Office of Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Office wants them to do. The Voldemort experience has made most of us grow up to be paranoiacs."

Ginny snorted and neatly speared a piece of quiche. Hannah did not participate in the conversation. She was too entranced by the array of foods on the buffet. By now she was probably making mental calculations about how to re-create a brunch like that at the Leaky Cauldron. To everyone's surprise she was really enjoying her Apprenticeship with old Tom.

Harry eyed Draco over the rim of the sleek black rectangles of his glasses and raised his eyebrows. "We all know I'm the next Moody. Get on with it."

Draco raised his glass to Harry. "Here's to constant vigilance," he said. "And may it serve you well. But honest, don't you see what the Minister is doing?  
"Shacklebolt is using the law to flush all the purebloods out of the woodwork. Or haven't you noticed that _everyone_ has to hand in documentation about their parents _and_ their grandparents? He's forcing every single witch and wizard in Britain to drop their pants and reveal just how _'pure'_ their precious blood is. The clout of the pureblood faction will be diminished considerably once the press gets hold of the new statistics of wizarding Britain. Because contrary to what my father and his friends would like to think, the magical community of Britain is rather more _'muddied' _than say, for example, wizarding France or Spain."

**oooOooo**

When Hermione found Severus in the study that night, he was gazing at three silver bells with polished mahogany handles arrayed on his desk. His expression was gloomy.

"Do you think she'll find the other bells?"

He nodded. "I'm certain of it. They call to her, Hermione. She can't _not_ find them. And I'd rather she finds them _for me_ than break another promise _to me_."

"You're worried about her."

"Of course I am."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Draco's quote is actually paraphrased from Tom Clancy's novel "Hunt for Red October", only it's babies and their lollipops in that context, not witches and broomsticks.


	114. Bells and Kneazles

**Bells and Kneazles **

Severus' right hand was rubbing absently over the ragged scars on his left forearm.

"Ranna you already know," he said. "The other bells are Dyrim – the speaker; it can return the faculty of speech to those who lost it, either to death or other misfortune – and Belgaer – keeper of memory. A tricksome bell. It can restore thought and memory to the dead. But slipping in a careless hand it will erase them."

Hermione approached the table with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. In the end, curiosity won out. She stretched out her hand, letting it hover over the handles. Belatedly it occurred to her that they might not be safe for her to touch. She glanced up at her husband. "Can – May I?"

He nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. That slight change of expression was enough to distract her. She loved his mouth. And his eyes. Heat flushed her cheeks and she quickly turned back to the bells.

They were made of silver and of supreme craftsmanship. Strange symbols and ancient runes twisted half-glimpsed all over the body of the bells, inside and out, as well as over the mahogany handles. They were beautiful. When she touched Dyrim, the small hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and she shivered with a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

She nearly dropped the bell. But almost before she could move, Severus' hand closed over her, and he put the bell back on the table safely.

Hermione swallowed hard. Severus Snape did nothing without a purpose. "Why … why are you telling me all that?"

His black eyes regarded her calmly. "You should not have been able to accompany Alina. You were not born a Necromancer."

Each of his words seemed to be echoed by heavy heartbeats. "What are you trying to say?"

"At this point all I have is a carefully considered conjecture … or if you will, an educated guess." His nostrils flared with distaste. "Necromancy is essentially blood magic. When you saved me from Nagini, your blood came into … close contact with mine. And my blood was still infused with Necromantic magic –"

"Your memories!"

He inclined his head. "Quite so. It seems that … my blood imparted an echo of my own talents to you." Severus stood absolutely rigid, arms crossed in front of him. Hermione felt her forehead crease. She knew that she ought to be shocked, and she was, but her first thought was if he blamed himself. The lines around his mouth creased deeper than before. She almost sighed. Of course he did.

Hermione stepped in front of him, until her breasts came to rest just above his crossed arms. She raised her head and firmly banished the panic that was beginning to seep into her mind. She met his gaze and thrust out her chin. "I'm only glad I could come to you."

His eyes closed with a sigh of relief. She could barely hear his familiar mantra, as he murmured: "You foolish, _foolish_ woman."

**oooOooo**

Alina ran smack into Barret as she fled from the dungeons to spend the last hour before curfew where no one would see her puffed eyes and red nose. She blinked and took in Crudass' appearance. He looked about the same as she did, eyes red, nose runny. And his hands sported many thin scratches.

She suppressed the urge to say _"I'm so sorry"_ and hug him that she always seemed to feel when she saw Barret lately. She couldn't imagine what it was like to lose your parents and your baby-sister all at once. The mere thought made her stomach constrict and caused her nausea. But Crudass didn't seem to want any comfort. His temper was nastier than ever.

So Alina merely frowned at him with what she hoped was aloof detachment, let her gaze drop to his hands and asked with raised eyebrows, "Whatever have you been up to? That looks as if you've used your hands to practice how to skin a Shrivelfig – unsuccessfully."

Crudass snorted, but the wary gaze in his eyes faded a little. "They allow me to visit the kittens."

"OH!" Alina was instantly distracted. "You've been to Filch's office? You've actually touched the kittens? Ohmygosh! What do they look like? Why did they do that to you?"

The corner's of Crudass' rather broad mouth twitched at her enthusiasm. "Yes, I've been to Filch's office. My mother is – was – a kneazle-breeder. They – they think I can help Filch with the kittens. And that this maybe will help me," he added sourly. "To deal with things, you know."

Alina nodded. That made sense. "So what are they like? And why do they scratch you?"

"Did someone ever tell you that you're a pain in the bum, Alina?"

She shrugged. "Sure. My mother. Ron. Charlie. Hermione. My Head of House uses fancier words, though. But that would be the gist of it."

Crudass just shook his head. But then he did answer her question. "There are five of them, three ginger ones, all toms. And two dust-coloured girls. And they scratch because they're playful, but they are still too dumb to know that you don't use your claws when you're playing with a human." He gave Alina a faint grin. "I'm sure you'll get to see them soon yourself."

Alina blinked at him in surprise. "But … how? Filch isn't letting them out, and he only lets Headmistress McGonagall IN. And you."

Crudass raked his fingers through his sand-coloured hair. "Filch doesn't know the first thing about kneazles. The kittens are getting adventuresome. And they don't know yet that walls are supposed to be solid. Or that it's bad manners to simply go POOF! They'll just walk right through the walls. I guess they'll be all over the school any day now."

"Oh my GOSH!" Alina giggled. "I can't wait. Filch's going to blow a gasket!"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Cruddass explanation about the ability of young kneazles walking through walls simply because they don't know yet that they are supposed to be solid is a nod to the novel "The Cat Who Walks Through Walls" by Robert A. Heinlein. I expect that adult kneazles will be able to Apparate like house-elves. That would definitely explain Mrs. Norris uncanny ability to show up from one second to the next. 


	115. Boo!

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Boo!**

Alina and Barret stopped in front of the giant hour-glasses. Ravenclaw was way ahead of both Slytherin and Gryffindor. Barret scowled and aimed a fake kick at the hour-glass of his house.

"Every time I see those things, I just want to kick them." He glowered at a First Year Hufflepuff who stared at them, looking thoroughly scandalized. Alina wasn't sure if that was because the girl had never seen a Slytherin and a Gryffindor talking before, or if their evident lack of respect shocked her. Whatever the reason, her expression annoyed Alina.

She put her hands into the air and waggled her fingers at the child. "BOO!" she went, delighted to see how the girl jumped and then high-tailed it towards the entrance of Hufflepuff House.

"It's just an hour until curfew," Alina muttered. "She should have been in her House already anyways."

Alina turned back to Crudass. "But why?" she asked.

"Well, because they're still THERE," he grumbled. "Nothing's changed." He didn't have to add how unfair that was compared to how everything had changed for him.

"Oh, but it has," Alina retorted. "Haven't you noticed? The Heads of Houses don't take and award points anymore. So there's less risk of bias in how the points get awarded."

Barret frowned. "But they all got apprentices now. They'll just make _them_ take the points off the students they don't like."

Alina raised her eyebrows. "Are you honestly implying that _Hermione_ would favour Slytherins?"

"She certainly doesn't favour Gryffindors."

He'd lost five points in Potions yesterday for making his cauldron boil over. Alina rolled her eyes at him. "What did you expect? Her instructions were easy enough to follow for anyone who bothered to listen. If it makes you feel better, I just got chewed out by my Head of House."

Barret looked interested at once. "Why? What did you do this time?"

Alina grimaced. Then she made a decision. "He also gave me an extracurricular task."

"A detention?"

Alina wrinkled her nose. "Not quite. Sort of. Anyway, I could use some help."

"Promoting inter-House cooperation again, Petrel?"

"Do you want to know more about those Necromantic bells that I found, Crudass, or shall I just go back to my House?"

**oooOooo**

"Hermione. Talk to me. Kindly at least look at me. Are you all right?"

She'd been standing at the window, trying to ignore the bite of the fresh tattoo on her left arm.

_Branded,_ she thought. _Like a cow. Marked. Just like …_ She tried to get a grip on her tumbling thoughts. She refused to go down history lane. _This is not the Muggle world of the 1930s and 40s. This is not the era of Grindelwald._

"FUCK!" she shouted at last and whirled around to face him. "I don't give a newt's spleen for their good intentions. Did you see how pleased Umbridge looked? She and her revolting pink wand. And since when do wands come in such disgusting colours anyway?"

Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at Severus. "I've spent all my years in the wizarding world trying to fit in. Trying to _belong_. And now you just have to take a good look at my arm, and you'll know all about me. You'll know that –"

She stopped when she noticed rising anger a-glitter in his eyes.

"If you are quite finished with your hysterics?" His voice was icy. "This is quite ridiculous, Hermione. Even more ridiculous than those damn tattoos." His right hand strayed to his own left arm. "When do you ever wear one of those silly t-shirts? Are you or are you not what that werewolf called _'the brightest witch of your generation'_? Are you or are you not _my_ apprentice?"

Hermione just stared at Snape, her lower lip trembling. _This is all just too much. Everything. The weeks of worrying. Getting him back. Now those damn tattoos. Can't it ever stop? Can there never be any normalcy in my life?_

Severus sighed and took a step towards her. He reached for her arms, and pulled them away from under her breasts, until they hung loosely at her sides. Then he stroked over her shoulders and smoothed down her robes along her sides, until his hands rested at her waist. He pulled her close to his body. "You most certainly _do_ belong here. Nowhere else. You're a witch, and always will be. You _do _belong here. Never doubt that."

He brought his hands up to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and forcing her to look into his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat (or two), and the nature of the quivering inside her body changed to the unmistakable fluttering of desire.

"And most of all," he murmured, "you belong to me."

They stood in each other's arms for a long time, silently seeking the support their closeness provided.

**oooOooo**

His screams woke her.

One moment Hermione was fast asleep, drifting through a maze of uneasy dreams, the next she was standing beside the bed, wands in her hands, feet rooted to the ground in proper duelling stance, her heart racing.

Severus lay on his stomach, his body jerking, his cries muffled by the pillow.

"Severus?" He didn't react. "Severus!"

She cast her wands aside and climbed onto the bed, kneeling down next to him. The agonised sounds tore right through her. Hermione bit down on her lower lip. Waking him now was not without risk. If she shot from sleep into duelling stance without a thought, _he_ might throw a hex at her before he was even awake.

Firmly she placed her hand on his right arm. "Severus! Wake up! It's only a dream."

His skin was burning. Did he have a fever?

"It's only a dream," she repeated.

Instantly his body tensed and Hermione snatched back her hand. With a stifled sound of pain, Severus rolled onto his back. His black eyes gleamed in the darkness. His face was ghostly pale.

"No." Severus' voice cracked painfully. "It's not."

**oooOooo**


	116. Help and Helplessness

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Help and Helplessness**

"Severus?" she asked. "What's wrong? You were screaming in your sleep."

Sweaty strands of hair clung to skin damp with sweat. The sharp creases between his brows and around his mouth indicated that he was in considerable pain.

"I'll go and get Poppy," Hermione said.

"No!" His eyes flew open. His hand jerked as if he wanted to reach for her. It made her feel hollow and helpless to realise that she was becoming as much a touchstone to him as he was to her. With the notable difference that there always seemed to be so _damn little_ she could do for him.

A blue witch-light appeared at a flick of her wand and floated calmly above their heads. Hermione laid her wand aside. She took his hand in hers. He was definitely running a temperature. Gently she stroked his fingers.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked in a soft voice.

His eyes stared at the ceiling, black and bleak and glazed with fever.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse. Even two years after Nagini's attack, his voice remained fragile. After a while, he added, "Lois always tried to get me to talk, too. Not just –" His right hand crept to the purple scar at his throat. "Not just for her exercises."

"And did you?"

He shook his head. "Not much. Could you – could you maybe put a hand on my forehead? Your hands are so wonderful … and _cold_."

"For once that's a good thing, huh?" She nestled against him and rested her right hand on his forehead, while her left twined through his fingers. She watched him closely. He _did_ need medical assistance, but maybe not right now. Especially if he was willing to talk about what bothered him.

"I _am_ aware of the theory of Muggle psychotherapy." His mouth twisted. "Though I still fail to see why it should matter how I feel."

"But it does," Hermione objected. "It matters to me. _You_ matter to me."

His feverish gaze caught hers. An expression of desperate astonishment flickered across his face. "I – know. Foolish woman."

"You're certainly not the only one to think so," Hermione commented.

"Ha!" But the sound noticeably lacked rancour. "Talking did help me, once," Severus admitted. His voice had taken on an almost dreamy quality. "When I thought I couldn't take it anymore. – Abbé Rigaud. Must have been the strangest confession he ever heard. Though you couldn't tell from how he reacted. Frenchmen. Always so damn nonchalant. How odd that I found solace among the only foes of the wizarding world that are more dangerous than Grindelwald and Voldemort put together …"

He appeared to drift off for a bit, lids lowering. Hermione hardly dared to breathe. _Dangerous foes of the wizarding world? Was he talking about the Church?_

After a while Severus drew a shuddering breath. He looked at her, but he had trouble focusing his eyes. "Hermione?"

"Yes, I'm here. Shall I get Poppy now?"

"No. Not yet." Another shudder. "Are you real? Sometimes when I wake, I am certain that you cannot possibly be. And sometimes when I sleep, I am not real anymore, either. Just a puppet," he muttered. "A puppet without strings. For anyone to play with. Don't even need to bother with a damn _Imperius_."

A shiver rushed over his thin body. He turned onto his side. His face was flushed, his skin burning.

"Am I real? Is this really my body?" His voice faded, the syllables slurring. "But it must be. It _hurts_."

She put her arms around him and held him close for a long moment. "Of course you're real. And this _is _your body. No one will take it from you. No one will hurt you. Severus, you're ill. I need to Floo and get Poppy. I'll be back in just a minute. Will you be all right?"

As Hermione stepped into the green fire she heard Severus' voice breaking as he repeated her last words, _"all right"._

**oooOooo**

"And how are you today?" Poppy Pomfrey asked and held out a small phial of Pepper-Up to Hermione.

"Somehow I doubt that you'll accept _'splendid'_ as an answer," Hermione replied and upended the phial, swallowing quickly.

"Don't you try that tack with me, young lady," the Hogwarts Matron chided. "Leave that to him." She nodded in the direction of Severus' bedroom.

"Will he be …" She choked on the words _"all right"._

But Poppy patted her hand. "He _will _be _all right._ The magic of this thrice-damned tattoo interfered with the healing spells we placed on him after you brought him back. That was simply too much for his_ 'magical metabolism'._ And I dare say he didn't rest as much as he ought to have."

Hermione flushed and nodded.

"Hush, child!" Poppy smiled at her knowingly. "That's _not_ what I meant. _I_ was talking about working long hours and worrying about his students beyond what anyone could reasonably expect of him.

"However, you _must _be aware that it will take time for him to heal – and not just his physical injuries."

Hermione nodded. "He – he kept going on about if he was real, if his body was real."

She _hated_ feeling so helpless.

Poppy sighed. "That makes sense. For all that it was a blessing for him to withdraw from what they did to him in Azkaban, perceived loss of control causes its own problems.

"Outside forces have taken control of his life and his body too often and too thoroughly during the last twenty years for him to suffer that easily."

"I certainly don't blame him for becoming such a control freak," Hermione said morosely. "I just wish I could help him."

"Oh, Hermione, but you _are_ helping him!" Poppy folded her arms around her and drew Hermione against her stout figure and ample bosom. "I don't think you're aware of just _how much_ you are already doing for him. In all the years I've known him, I've never seen Severus so happy before."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to Bueckeybelle who helped me with the foundations of this chapter in a long discussion of pain management, Cruciatus and other niceties on lj. All mistakes that are left are mine.


	117. How Are You?

**Warning:**

This chapter contains references to mature themes, namely rape and torture.  
However, there are no descriptions at all, therefore the rating for this chapter is still a valid "T".

* * *

**oooOooo**

**How Are You?**

"How are you, Severus?" Minerva asked. "And I want none of your usual lies."

Severus scowled. Instead of saying _"I'm fine"_ as he'd intended, he glanced at the conspicuously empty frame behind her desk. "Where is he? Did you send him away?"

The Headmistress followed his gaze. "Dumbledore, you mean? No idea. He's been away a lot lately." Her lips thinned. "No doubt hanging out with his _'mates'_, playing golf or sampling the brews in one of those grotesque impressionist bar tableaus. As long as no student catches him dancing on a table in the nude, I'm quite happy if Albus is out and about, to tell the truth.  
"Now. Don't believe for a second that you're fooling me, young man. I've talked to Poppy, Muriel _and_ to your wife. Please, Severus. _Talk to me._ How are you?"

His fingers strayed to the bridge of his nose. _Why did every woman in the bloody castle desire to talk about how he was feeling all of a sudden?_

"Poppy tells me that I am fit to teach once more. Muriel agrees as long as there will be no foolish wand-waving to deplete my energy. Hermione does not."

"That is not what I was asking about, Severus."

He felt the first stirring of anger within him. Anger was good. Much better than mind-numbing weakness and unlifting fatigue. He raised his head and fixed the Headmistress with a harsh stare. "What do you want me to say, Minerva? _'Thank you, but I'm _really_ fine'?_ – After Poppy and Muriel managed to keep me from haemorrhaging because the spell of Shacklebolt's damn tattoo rendered their healing spells ineffective and re-opened _fucking_ injuries I didn't even know I had? No, Minerva, I am most certainly _not_ fine.  
"Nor is my wife," he muttered.

"What about Hermione?"

He stiffly rose to his feet and began to stalk across the room, his customary panther-like prowl reduced to a weary walk. "What about Hermione," he repeated and halted in front of Albus' empty picture frame. "What about her indeed? No young witch should spend her twenty-first birthday sitting at the sickbed of a husband who's not only nineteen years her senior but who's been –" He met Minerva's gaze squarely. "Whose _body_ was so raped and abused that a tattoo the size of a fucking Knut with the magical impact of a Niffler's sneeze has him in the hospital wing. _Dammit, Minerva._"

"Hermione loves you very much, you know."

Gingerly Severus sat back down.

"I _do_ know that," he murmured.

**oooOooo**

"How do you know about that and about how serious was it?" Harry asked.

The fact that Draco didn't smirk or flaunt his superior sources of intelligence, but just looked at him with a troubled expression disturbed Harry.

"Hannah's parents were friends with Healer Mugwort. They're still meeting regularly. Hannah knows I'm worried about Severus, but that I won't contact him directly as long as Andromeda's holding onto her grudge against him. Which just might be forever. Anyway, that's how I know. No details, of course. Just that the tattoo caused problems with his recovery from his … _sojourn _in Azkaban."

"Damn," Harry said. "I knew those tattoos were a bad idea. I _knew_ it. But _you_ didn't want to believe me."

Draco raised his hands. "Brake your broomstick, chap. I told you I don't have any details. Maybe you should go, visit him and Hermione, ask for particulars?"

Harry gulped. There was an idea for a conversation he wouldn't want to have if he turned 200. "It – _uh_ – I – particulars – you have no idea – I doubt he'd be willing to discuss –"

"Oh _shite_," Draco said, correctly interpreting Harry's immediate, blushing reluctance. Harry would never understand how the former Slytherin could arrive at correct conclusions with so little information to base them on.

Malfoy fingered his wand. "If there's really something wrong with the tattoos … How about you – are _you_ experiencing any symptoms?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope, I'm perfectly fine. A bit tired, but that's normal, what with the Auror training and those fucking late-night meetings at the Wizengamot."

"Hmm. Then maybe it really hit Severus so hard just because he wasn't healthy to start with."

"Maybe." Harry wasn't convinced. Perhaps he ought to Owl Hermione? He yawned. He'd get around to it. Tomorrow or the day after, when he wasn't quite as worn out.

**oooOooo**

Meanwhile preparations for Halloween were in full swing at Hogwarts.

Hagrid had outdone himself and not only provided pumpkins of every imaginable size, shape and colour, but also the more traditional, skull-shaped turnips. Tim Summerby, Flitwick's new apprentice, was supervising a Charms study group of Third Years, who were enthusiastically carving up Hagrid's prized vegetables, inserting candles and levitating them in the Great Hall. Filch's kittens were busy trying to catch bats and causing inattentive students to break their legs (three so far; two Hufflepuffs, one Ravenclaw).

And Anne Flamel, currently the best Herbology student of Hogwarts, was attempting to carry a tray that was piled so high with plates and goblets that she looked as if she'd break down under her load any second.

"Let me help you," Neville offered, flicking his wand. Long gone were the days when his Levitation spells were less than perfect. Anne dimpled sweetly. Her green eyes widened with gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Longbottom."

"What's all this for?" Neville asked. "A Hufflepuff party?"

"Oh." Anne blushed. "No party, sir. Just an old Samhain custom. Something my family have always done. When I was a child, I promised my uncle Nicolas that I'd keep up the tradition.

"I'm putting food out for our dead. A plate and a goblet for every memorial stone." She hesitated, her eyes darkening. "There are so many, sir. And I – some of them I remember, of course. But others …" The young woman shrugged helplessly.

"That's very kind of you, Miss Flamel, to honour their memory like that," Neville said slowly. "Would you … _May I_ assist you with your task?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Wouldn't we all like to know what Dumbledore is up to? Also: quarter-(or depending on Mrs. Norris' breeding: three-quarter)-Kneazles are made of win.

Anne Flamel is Johannes' older sister. Neville is going to be in so much trouble. While I've put Hannah into the Leaky Cauldron as the latest interview with JKR suggests, my Draco has informed me that he really, really likes her and that he's not going to share.

Many thanks to Buckeyebelle for inspiring the Samhain scene.


	118. Exit, Pursued by a Bear

**Exit, Pursued by a Bear**

The merry noise of the afternoon tea along with the cheerful chaos of Halloween preparations faded away around Hermione. Her world narrowed down to a piece of cream-coloured parchment that bore the seal of the Auror Office.

The writing was very clear. Round, pretty. For a moment Hermione wondered if the unknown scribe was a man or a woman. She squinted her eyes. _I really need to cut my nails again. Especially if I want to work with Wiggling Woad later. _Hermione drew a shuddering breath. _It was time._ She'd known for a while that this moment would come. She'd prepared herself for it mentally. But it was still a shock.

She rose to her feet. Severus, who was eating his way through a huge plate of sandwiches under Poppy's censorious glare, looked up.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to inform the Auror Office that I don't want to receive a copy of their reports anymore," Hermione said. _Except emergency reports, of course. _"I'd like to Owl them back right away."

Severus frowned, the crease between his brows sharpened. "What happened?"

Another deep breath. "Nothing, really. I should have cancelled this arrangement months ago. It's high time I finally get around to doing that."

Severus just looked at her. The black gaze that made students quake and quiver let her know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't nearly convincing enough.

"My parents have adopted a child," she added. "A little girl. You see, apparently Wendell and Monica Wilkins always wanted to have a daughter." She gave a shaky laugh. "It seems that was one of the reasons they relocated to Australia … they tried to conceive a child for years, it didn't work … in the end they didn't want to live in Britain anymore … or work as dentists. Sort of a mid-life crisis, I guess …"

"I see." His expression remained neutral. "I expect I shall see you at dinner then."

**oooOooo**

Hermione stood at the window, a carefully sealed parchment in her hands.

He took in her appearance: Wild curls subdued into a tight bun (no stray hairs in _her_ potions, he recalled, not even when she was but a mere slip of a girl); smooth robes, apprentice badge neatly attached (she probably never gave it a thought anymore that she was wearing _his_ colours); nails freshly cut (and they'd better be if she insisted on brewing something _"fun"_ for Halloween that required Wiggling Woad with her study groups).

Outwardly, she appeared perfectly composed and professional. But when she turned to look at him, her eyes were huge and dark and sad.

_Still she smiled at him_.

Severus quelled the impulse to pretend that he'd merely forgotten a stack of essays on his desk. She'd never believe him. He was too pedantic about even the most mundane details. Instead he crossed the room. Somehow it seemed a sensible course of action to take the scroll from her hands, put it on the table and pull _her_ into his arms.

He _did_ realise that pulling the ribbon from her hair so he could sink his fingers into the wealth of her curls was neither sensible nor an adequate response to her obvious distress.

Therefore he embraced her without a word. Absently he marvelled at how perfectly she fit against him. If he raised his chin a little, he could rest it on the top of her head. She slumped against him with a deep sigh. As always she shivered at the end of the inhalation. As always the slight vibration sent a jolt of desire through his body. But he did not act on it and only held Hermione close.

"They've called her _'Cordelia Perdita'_. My parents always loved Shakespeare, you know," she said. "Cordelia was King Lear's daughter. And Perdita–"

"_'Perdita'_ is the lost princess in _'A Winter's Tale'_," Severus continued softly when Hermione's voice failed her. "I know."

**oooOooo**

Flitwick's choir tortured the attentive audience in the Great Hall with its usual concert of suitably excruciating seasonal songs while bats swooped overhead and thousands of candles flickered in gloating pumpkins and gleeful turnips.

Severus' gaze travelled over the table of Slytherin House. Holiday-fever gleamed in many eyes, promising a long night of chasing pranksters. And … He narrowed his eyes.

Alina Petrel was missing.

_Fuck._

He looked quickly at the other tables. Was anyone else missing? Ravenclaw, all accounted for, as far as he could tell. Hufflepuff, too. _Gryffindor …_ Severus frowned. That Cruddace boy! The child who'd lost his family to those murderers. He wasn't there, either. _And _he'd been one of the ringleaders of the campaign against the House Cup last term.

Severus was about to rise when the doors slammed open and Alina Petrel came skidding into the hall, Barret Cruddace in hot pursuit.

Clutched against her chest she carried a small silver bell,. Something was trailing on the floor between her legs. Promptly she tripped and almost fall flat on her face. Severus' instant alarm faded only when he realised that the trailing _something_ was Alina's school scarf, which she had jammed around the clapper to prevent the bell from making any sound.

All heads swivelled. All eyes stared.

Out of breath, red spots burning on her cheeks, voice shrill with excitement, Alina shouted: "You won't believe what we've just seen!

"Dumbledore is _snogging_ Salazar Slytherin in the big painting in the Trophy Room!"

For a moment the Hall was completely silent, the only sound the sizzling of the candle flames in the turnips and pumpkins overhead.

When a blushing, breathless Cruddace nodded in agreement, the massed students stampeded with a roar. As if pursued by a bear, they stormed to the doors, the Halloween feast momentarily forgotten.

The teachers remained behind – flabbergasted expressions on most faces, a number of mouths agape.

From the gilded chair of the Headmistress, Severus heard a deep sigh. Smirking, he caught Minerva's gaze.

"At least no one caught him dancing on tables in the nude."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter is a stage direction from "The Winter's Tale" by William Shakespeare.


	119. And If Thou Wilt, Forget

**Warning: **This chapter contains coarse language.**  
**

* * *

**oooOooo **

**And If Thou Wilt, Forget**

At ten o'clock Hermione went outside to ensure that no errant students had crept out of the castle. It was also a splendid opportunity to seek a short respite of the rampant Halloween craziness in the rose garden.

Minerva must have been mad to allow a midnight curfew. Especially since somehow the Muggle custom of dressing up for Halloween had somehow made its way into Hogwarts this year. While a strict prohibition had been issued to use spells on other students in order to change their appearance, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the simple ingenuity of children were causing quite enough craziness to be going on with. There were hags and vampires and Inferi, as well as more mundane Muggle monsters, including Gollums, Darth Vaders and assorted Superheroes. All that on top of the disrupted Halloween dinner.

The rose garden was an oasis of peace. Even so late in the year roses were blooming here and the air was filled with the scent of herbs. Pomona Sprout selected the varieties carefully and kept the ground infused with charms. Thus you could find roses here even in the depth of winter. At the end of the garden, guarded by a low limestone wall and surrounded by white roses, rosemary and lavender, a patch of lawn beckoned.

But Hermione hesitated to step out onto the grass.

A sliver of light touched the edge of the grass and glinted on a silver plate and goblet. Someone had brought the traditional Samhain gift of food and drink out for the dead who slept underneath the lawn. There were no memorial stones here, just the grass, the herbs and the roses. Severus' explanation of the symbolism of flowers at their wedding had prompted Hermione to study the ancient lore of the language of flowers. Now she inhaled the cool, fragrant night air, trying to recall their meanings: white roses for reverence, rosemary for remembrance, and lavender for devotion. And to keep the aphids away from the roses, of course. It certainly made for a lovely fragrance.

Hermione stared at the shadowy lawn and tried to remember the faces and the voices. She'd never forget Tonks, of course. Or Lupin. Or Moody. Or Dobby. But there had been so many others. Students she'd known only in passing. Others she hadn't known at all.

A phrase drifted to her mind. A fragment. She wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe a few lines of a poem? She associated her mother's voice with it, and a feeling of consternation, the feeling that she was missing something essential, something that she should understand, but didn't – at least when she'd first heard the words.

_"Be the green grass above me  
With showers and dewdrops wet;  
And if thou wilt, remember,  
And if thou wilt, forget."_

Green grass covered these graves. And the climate of the Scottish Highlands certainly provided sufficient showers and dewdrops.

But what about the last two lines?

Hermione dropped her gaze to the ground, to the plate with its piece of shortbread or cake, and the goblet, filled with some liquid she couldn't discern. She wondered who had thought of setting food and drink out for the dead here in the garden. Thoughtfully, Hermione sucked in her lower lip, but resisted the temptation to gnaw on it. She _wanted_ to remember. But she wasn't quite sure if she could. Or indeed, if she ought to.

She sighed. Straightening her shoulders, she carefully stepped around the plate and the goblet and onto the lawn – just to jump back with a scream, when suddenly a pale shape advanced on her.

A strange sweet scent floated up to her. Then she found herself face to face with a terrible white visage. Papery skin clung so tightly to the bone that the countenance looked more like a skull than a human face. That was probably why she didn't recognize him at once. The eyes lay deep in their cavities. They were filled with a dark fire, a strange, unearthly hatred.

The lips were drawn up around horrible teeth that looked far too long to belong to a human being. But still there was something to this monstrous creature that was frighteningly familiar.

Hermione took a deep breath. She really didn't care for the latest line of products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She braced herself. "Students aren't allowed out in the gardens after dinner. You know the rules. What's your House? Whatever it is, ten points for that little escapade, and now get back inside. They'll miss you already, I expect. And congratulations on your costume, it's really scary."

She wrinkled her nose. _Whoever that was should really rethink their choice in perfumes. It was much too sweet. _"Well? Don't stand there, gawking! Get back inside!"

"You fucking cunt," the figure snarled at her, long teeth gnashing. He seemed to be unable to focus his eyes on her. "You bloody forget who I am and then you poxy pussy get your panties in a twist 'cos I'm out and about … arsehole … fucktard … I'll fucking show you how to push up the daisies … bloody whore. Shanky-arsed, crotch-slurping, shit-munching, pimple-nibbling, cock-brained jizzmopper!"

Hermione recoiled, took a step back and drew her wands. But whoever – _whatever_ – that was, he was supremely unafraid of her wands. He stepped straight into her wand, and for a moment she had the feeling as if her wand sank into his body, burying into flesh that was too soft to be alive. She shivered. Absently she realised that the lawn under her feet was covered with hoarfrost.

He was mere inches away from her when his dark eyes suddenly brightened and warmed, for no more than a heartbeat.

"Hermione!" called the bright young voice of Colin Creevey. "Really great to see you!"

Then his fingers closed around her neck with an icy, iron grip. And before she had a chance to even think of a spell, or a charm, or of calling for help, darkness claimed her.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the poem "Song" by Christina Georgina Rossetti, which is also quoted in the chapter. The long string of insults is from an online insult-generator.


	120. Incendio!

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Warning: **This chapter contains coarse language.**  
**

* * *

**oooOooo **

**Incendio!**

Severus Snape watched with carefully concealed disgust how Ebenezer Sibly-Styles removed a striped sock from Alyah Beiond's right foot and delicately kissed the girl's ankle. Alina – still hyper from her earlier adventure – was literally rolling on the floor because she was laughing so hard, while her partner in crime, Barret "Crudass" Cruddace, looked on with a face as red as Ron Weasley's during his most embarrassed moments.

The little knights had moved their Halloween party to the floor of the Great Hall. They were sitting in a circle and playing magical spin-the-bottle, the "Truth or Dare" version.

Severus had surreptitiously ascertained that the spell on the bottle would not cause anything inappropriate. Then he'd settled down in a corner with a pot of tea and a Potions Magazine. The trick was to look immersed in his reading and threatening at the same time. That way he provided a challenge and an opportunity for students to attempt clandestine and illicit activities right in front of his nose, and he'd be in the perfect position to intervene before the foolish children came to serious harm should things get out of hand. It was a Slytherin strategy. And it worked very well.

Severus was about to take another sip of his tea when the magical bond connecting him with his apprentice and wife flared up.

The rose garden! A sudden vision of a chalky face, dead eyes and elongated teeth contorted into a terrible grimace.

The cup fell from his hand. It shattered on the flagstones with a piercing clatter as hands with a strength beyond that of a mere human closed around Hermione's throat. For a moment Severus' vision faded in waves of grey. Then the piercing power of the magical warning was gone as suddenly as it had come over him. But his relief was short-lived. Severus recoiled, when a pain similar to the _Sectumsempra_ spell cut through his left ring finger. When he raised a shaking hand to his eyes, he gasped at the sight of rime glittering on his marriage band.

He never stopped to think. Three strides and he was across the Hall, grabbing Alina. "Run to my quarters – the password is _'Artemis'_ – get the bells. The rest of you – find Neville, Mr. Longbottom. I need the sword! In the rose garden. As quickly as he can manage. Alina, wait for Mr. Longbottom. Do not leave the castle alone. Hurry!"

"Sir?! What's wrong? Is – has something happened to Hermione?"

He closed his eyes. He mustn't panic. Already precious seconds had been lost …

"She's been attacked. Now RUN!"

With that he was off, racing through corridors and hallways towards the garden gates. He burst out of the castle with his wands raised and ready. His breath was coming in painful gasps when he reached the rose garden. A white shape crouched on the lawn, bending over the still shape of a body. A muttering growl was issuing from the creature. As Severus drew nearer, he could make out words, but they didn't make any sense at all.

_"Bubbleheaded, baboon-raping, gym sock-slurping, toe jam-munching, pimple-chewing, wartheaded …"_

When he realised whom – _what_ – he was looking at, Severus was so shocked that he froze for a second. Then he took in how Hermione's head lolled to the side, her eyes open and unblinking. With a hoarse scream, he pointed his wands at the Inferius. The creature stared at him. Its mouth twitched over hideous fangs. "Gargantuan skip of obnoxious zit cheese," the Inferius spit at him. He flung Hermione's body away and leapt to his feet, hurling himself at Severus. Only the eyes still reminded of the young Gryffindor the drawn face had once belonged to.

"INCENDIO TOTALITER!"

Flames burst from Severus' wands and engulfed the monster. Long dead flesh blackened and crumpled nearly instantly. The stench of burning bone filled the air. But still the creature that had once been Colin Creevey kept coming, raving and ranting incoherently beneath the roar of the fire that consumed him. Severus backed away, his wands raised, his mind feverishly searching for a spell to end this and end it quickly. He had to get to Hermione NOW!

Suddenly the Inferius stopped moving. Framed in a halo of flames, the madness suddenly drained from his face, to be replaced by the faint reminiscence of a boyish face and bright blue eyes. The eyes focused on Severus, as the frayed remains of his lips moved to form words that were barely audible.

"Watch the robes … not the wizards … _infantile wheelbarrow-full of soggy squeezings_ … kill … kittens … _incapable sack of vulgar mule froth _… wand … not what you see …"

Then the face that had once belonged to Colin Creevey exploded and the body of the Inferius collapsed.

For a heartbeat Severus stood in front of the smoking heap of bones and smouldering tissues. Then he shook himself and sprinted the last few yards towards the lawn. He barely noticed the melting rime that surrounded Hermione's body, before he dropped onto his knees next to her, trying to find a pulse, to feel her breath – but there was nothing.

Suddenly Neville was there, with Alina at his side. The young herbologist was clutching the sword of Godric Gryffindor in his hands and Alina was carrying a bag bulging with cylindrical shapes.

"Merlin, sir! What happened?"

"Give me that!" Severus snarled and tore the sword from Neville's grasp with one hand, while reaching for the bag with the bells with the other. Standing over Hermione's unmoving body, he swung the sword in a wide arc.

The fabric that separated the world of the living from the underworld ripped apart with noise between a scream and a sigh. Grey light and icy fog poured out and engulfed him. Hoarfrost crackled on his robes. In front of him a dark river swirled with unseen, swift currents.

Without a moment's hesitation, Severus stepped through the boundary between Life and Death and into the river.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Insults care of various insult generators, therefore not up to the standards of a brit-picked story. Sorry.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	121. A Coin for the Ferryman

**A Coin for the Ferryman**

The river was strong and swift where he entered it. Its deadly cold slammed into his body with a welcoming shock. The pain cleared his head and set his senses on edge.

For a moment Severus swayed when the currents gripped his robes and wrapped them around his knees. Then he found firm footing. He ignored the eddies that greedily whirled around his legs and the cold that was draining him of life. Instead he stared ahead into the darkness, trying to see, to hear …

It was a quiet spot in the river. In the distance he could hear the water rushing towards the Second Gate, but here everything was calm. No cries, no splashing. No half-hidden figures crouching just outside his field of vision.

He took a deep breath and waded deeper into the river. Still nothing. He turned towards the Gate. His progress was slow, laborious. His legs were so cold they felt like separate entities, no longer connected to his body.

Was that movement? Just a few feet ahead? Yes. Not far. But already closer to the First Gate. Too close. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. If she passed beyond the Gate before he could reach her, it would not be the Hermione he knew that he'd be bringing back.

**oooOooo**

The tableau before her reminded Minerva McGonagall of 19th century Gothic novels.

The dark figure of a man loomed over the prone body of a woman. In his hands, he held a silver sword beset with rubies. Blue witch-light illuminated the scene. Its glow made the tiny crystals of hoarfrost that covered the bodies sparkle in the darkness. The grass around them was frozen in a circle of at least seven feet in diameter. Only the sword was free of frost, its rubies blazing as brightly like the rising sun.

On the path that led up to the patch of lawn at the end of the rose garden a wisp of smoke curled up over a heap of oily dark ashes and broken bones.

Neville Longbottom was kneeling just outside the circle of rime, his arms wrapped around Alina Petrel, who was weeping hysterically.

Dazed, Minerva turned around to Madam Hooch who'd been as usual the quickest teacher to arrive on the scene.

"Contact the Aurors. Just in case the call of the tattoo failed. And we'll need Poppy," Minerva requested, though she doubted that a healer could help with what had happened here tonight.

Still the Headmistress straightened her shoulders and turned back to the frozen figures on the lawn.

**oooOooo**

There! Severus recognised her hair first, a mess of wet tangles floating on the dark waters. A white arm had grabbed her around the throat. Severus leapt forwards. He swung up the sword. Just a heartbeat before he brought down the sword, he realised that the white figure was not dragging Hermione towards the Gate. In fact, it was barely moving at all.

The creature was cradling Hermione carefully in its arm so that her face remained above the water. With feeble jerks of its body the dead being resisted the currents that were pushing them closer and closer towards the First Gate. Every now and again its other hand drifted up and smoothed wet tendrils of hair from Hermione's face. With each caress, her face grew paler as more colour, warmth and life drained out of her.

A moment later Severus reached them. So close to the Gate the currents were almost irresistible. His left arm was painful and frozen, he could barely move it. So terribly weak. The desire to sink into these dark waters and to float with the flow was nearly overwhelming. It would be so easy. The rushing of the river was a lullaby now. The water was buoyant. The cold wouldn't matter. He was so weary. His limbs were so heavy. But here was Hermione, _his Hermione_. A memory stirred, of the night when she'd become wholly his. And with that memory a little warmth returned to him.

**oooOooo**

Harry arrived at a run. Together with the other Aurors on duty he'd Apparated to the secluded spot just beyond the gardens, where they'd arrived after retrieving Snape from Azkaban. Just outside the grounds, it was the Apparition point closest to the grounds and gardens of Hogwarts. But he still lost precious seconds weaving through vegetable beds and berry bushes.

When Harry finally reached the rose garden, there was nothing he could do besides confirm what Alina said and Minerva suspected: Both Hermione and Severus had entered the Realm of Death – Hermione dragged by the Inferius' powers, Severus of his own volition.

The other Aurors crowded around the grisly remains of the Inferius. Maybe the spell that had animated the Inferius could still be traced. But Harry rather doubted it. His quick diagnostic spell had revealed nothing. There was simply not enough left of the creature.

At last Harry stepped behind Neville, who was still holding a shaking Alina in his arms, both to comfort her and to keep her away from the still shapes in front of them. Harry put one hand on the little girl's shoulder, the other on Neville's arm and drew them backwards, away from the circle of frost.

"There's nothing we can do but wait. You should go inside."

**oooOooo**

Severus stared at the creature before him.

It was even whiter in Death than in the realm beyond the river, almost blending with the fog that danced above the waters. A wild hunger and a desperate thirst burned in the eyes of what once had been a bright smiling boy and – he grudgingly admitted – an enthusiastic, diligent student.

Like all Dead it was drawn to the living. Demons and evil spirits fed off their energy or devoured their souls. Others would still be attracted to the presence of life in the river, to the sudden light in the midst of their darkness.

_Would he give up on the life he had captured?_

**oooOooo**


	122. Unless She Asks Me

**Unless She Asks Me **

Slowly Severus reached out. The dead spirit did not flinch. Instead he met Severus' eyes in silence. In Death, his speech had deserted him again. But the strange flicker of awareness that had passed through his face before the fire consumed his conjured shell still remained.

"Hermione doesn't belong here, Colin," Severus said as calmly as he could. Again that spark of recognition in the pale face at hearing once familiar names. "Hermione is not dead yet," Severus said and prayed that his words were true. Her arm was so thin, so fragile and cold in his grasp.

The river was gaining power around them. Already Severus could see the dark shape of the Gate looming before them blacker than the night. Already he could hear the voice of the water rising to a rushing noise in front of them. Sluggish movements within the gloom of the Gate told him that the presence of two living beings hadn't gone unnoticed. Soon hot blood and living flesh would draw out the demonic denizens of the river by the droves.

Severus tightened his hold on her arm. Hermione did not react, but remained as she was, drifting helplessly in the water, her eyes closed.

But the spirit did not move.

Severus raised the sword. Just an inch. A hint of a threat. His heart was racing, tumbling.

"She's mine. And I won't give her up. Ever."

_Unless she asks me to,_ he added once more in silence. His shoulders slumped, his strength deserting him. But Hermione was not here voluntarily. She hadn't left him.

Suddenly the spirit stepped back. Hermione's head went underwater. Severus lunged for her, almost losing hold of sword and bells. But he did not let go of her arm. Icy water washed over him, drenched him. Coughing and sputtering, he came up again. He drew her against his body until he held her securely in his arm, her face pressed against his left shoulder.

The first thing Severus felt was her heartbeat. Here, in the river, it was still present, steady and strong against his chest. He was beginning to shake with relief and exhaustion. But he must not let down this guard. They were not safe yet.

He looked back at Colin. The spirit stood in front of him, white arms dropped at his sides, looking at him with quiet expectation.

Severus hesitated. It had been such a long time since he had wielded a bell. _But …_ not only was he not sure if he still had the strength to make it back to the shore without help, Colin deserved better than being left afloat, to be washed back and forth between the shores of Life and Death. Awkwardly Severus transferred the sword to his left hand without loosening his hold on Hermione. His fingers fumbled with the bag. When they instinctively closed around a bell, he experienced a faint sense of surprise. He was still able to recognize the bell he needed by touch alone.

_Mosrael._ The bell Alina had discovered in the Trophy Room only a few hours earlier. With its seesaw sound the bell would throw Colin back to where he'd been taken from, while it would propel him and Hermione back to the shore.

Severus raised the bell, his gaze trained on the spirit in front of him. From the corner of his eye he caught glimpses of moving shadows closing in on them. His legs were shaking from the strain of holding Hermione and resisting the currents at the same time. It would be close. Very close.

"The sound of this bell will take you deep into Death, beyond the Ninth Gate." For a moment he fell silent. Then he whispered, "If you see Dumbledore … tell him …" He shook his head. "No. It's no use. We're alive, and you're dead."

"Would it help to know that you're not forgotten?" he asked suddenly. "Or that you haven't died in vain?"

Severus didn't wait for the spirit's answer, but tolled the bell.

**oooOooo **

The first flush of dawn shimmered through the fog that obscured the hills east of Hogwarts, when the harsh, strangely cut-off sound of a bell penetrated the silence of the rose garden.

Harry jumped to his feet just in time to see Severus' eyes flutter open. For a heartbeat his black eyes stared at clouds bright with the light of a new day in disbelief. Then his eyes rolled up in a faint and he slumped forwards, the sword of Gryffindor falling from his insensate grasp.

But Harry Potter hadn't been the youngest Seeker on a house team in over a century for nothing. He lunged forwards and threw himself down on his knees next to Hermione before Severus was on the ground. Harry caught the sword easily before it hit Hermione, his left hand curled securely around the hilt, but neatly slicing open his right palm with the blade.

He never noticed that the instant his blood dropped to the ground, the circle of frost melted away, leaving nothing but dewdrops that sparkled in the morning sun.

**oooOooo **

When Hermione opened her eyes, she felt dizzy and confused. Why was she in bed?

She turned towards her husband. Severus lay on his back next to her, unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of his breath. His face was deathly pale. His skin had always been sallow, but now it was nearly as white as snow.

Something must have happened. She tried to concentrate, to remember. But Halloween, the day, the dinner, the feast … Everything felt so far away. As if it had happened a lifetime ago. She'd been in the rose garden, she recalled, doing her rounds. _And then …_ she wrinkled her nose. The musky sweet smell of perfume. A white face. The rushing sound of a river. Her husband's voice filled with such pain and so far away.

Hermione shot up. "Severus! What happened to Severus?"

"He saved your life," Harry's voice answered her.

**oooOooo**


	123. Fama Volat

**Fama Volat**

"Harry?" Hermione blinked._ How did Harry come to be in hers and Severus' bedroom?_

She felt dizzy. When she tried to sit up, her arms wouldn't cooperate and she collapsed on the pillows. Her muscles felt like jelly, a most ridiculous feeling. A pathetic, almost hysterical giggle at her weakness bubbled up inside her.

"What happened?" Her gaze flicked from Harry's arm to the still form of her husband.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He was very pale. His right arm was covered in thick bandages and secured to his upper body with a sling."What do you remember?"

She frowned. "I was in the rose garden. I was … preoccupied. Then there was this white figure. I thought it was a student out of bounds. But it wasn't, was it?"

Harry reached for her hand squeezed it, an awkward, left-handed gesture of comfort. His green eyes remained worried.

"No," he said. "It … it was an Inferius. Hermione, someone raised Colin Creevey from the dead. And he … attacked you."

"What?"

Harry's gaze slid over to Severus. "Madam Pomfrey is going to be right back."

"Harry! What happened?"

His hand flew up to his scar to rub it nervously. "Look. Hermione. I don't really know! By the time the Aurors and I got to the rose garden, the two of you looked like statues or something. Completely immobile and covered with ice crystals. A few hours later, Snape suddenly slumped down, and you started breathing again."

"Breathing again?" Her voice soared shrilly. "Is he all right? Harry, is Severus all right?"

Harry glanced quickly at the man lying next to her, almost as if he expected him to jump up and hex him into oblivion any second. "Yes, he's fine. I promise. Both Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort say that he's only sleeping."

Hermione sighed with relief. But her left hand, hidden under the covers, inched surreptitiously towards Severus. Only when she'd slipped her fingers under the hard curves of his ribs, only when she could feel the warmth of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing on top of her fingers, her frantic heartbeat quieted. Hermione turned her attention back to Harry. "And what happened to your arm?" She concentrated on the clean white bandaged on Harry's arm. Bandages were good. They were safe. Safer than thinking about not breathing.

"He went into the Realm of Death to get you back," Harry added.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I can't remember anything," she said in a small voice. "I only remember the rose garden. And then … nothing."

An icy shudder shivered down her back. After a pause she forced herself to repeat her earlier question, "What's wrong with your arm?"

Harry scowled. "Snape dropped the sword. I caught it before it hit you. While luckily the venom of the basilisk isn't active anymore, the blade is still magical. And damn sharp."

"Oh, Harry!" Her hand jerked, trembling midair. She wasn't even strong enough to clap it to her mouth.

"Why don't you lie back down and sleep a while longer? Madam Pomfrey should be back any second. She'll get mad at me if I've upset you or something."

Hermione wanted to protest and tell him that she was much too scared to go to sleep again. But she never even noticed how Harry got to his feet again.

**oooOooo**

"Hey, what are you doing there?" Neville called out.

The girl jumped back, shaking. As he strode towards her, he realised that it was Anne Flamel. "I – I – was just –" Her brown eyes were wide and frightened. In her hands she was holding a red tin that smelled strongly of fish.

She was standing next to the silver plate and goblet that still set on the lawn at the end of the rose garden.

"Miss Flamel, have you any idea what happened here yesterday?"

The young woman flinched as if he'd struck her. He winced. He'd never spoken to a student in such a sharp tone before. And he really liked the – the – well, _technically_ she was a young woman, he supposed. She was only a year younger than Ginny, after all.

"I – I –" She gulped. "I heard that Professor Snape killed a student," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the ground.

For a moment Neville just blinked at her. "You heard _what?"_

"Sir, I don't believe it, I – I couldn't – he couldn't possibly – but –"

For the first time in his life Neville could almost understand why Professor Snape reacted the way he did at some points during his own student years. He inhaled deeply and reviewed the feeding instructions for the Giant Genevian Goosetrap in his mind.

"Miss Flamel, would you – would you mind taking a step backwards? Let's – let's move over there, to the wall."

She looked at him blankly, but followed his lead.

"Now," he continued. "Would you please tell me exactly what you heard and who you heard it from? And …" He frowned at looked at the tin she was holding. "I hope you don't mind me asking, what are you doing with herrings in oil in the rose garden?"

Anne blushed again, especially the tip of her nose, which was a bit tilted and, as Neville thought very privately, rather cute.

"Well, sir," she started shyly. When he nodded for her to continue, she swallowed hard and hurried on. "Well, sir, I – I heard it from a Hufflepuff. But he said he had it from a Ravenclaw and I think she had it from a – a Gryffindor, who had it from another Gryffindor, and I think he got it from a Slytherin."

Neville resisted the urge to bury his face in the palms of his hands. "And what exactly did you hear? Miss Flamel?"

"Well, that – that –" She took a deep breath. "Professor Snape killed a student and in the process also his wife. And then he tried to k- kill Ha- Ha-"

"Harry Potter?" Neville just groaned.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The title of this story is a Latin quote from Vergil. "Fama volat" means "rumour flies/rumour has wings". 


	124. Beautiful Eyes

**Beautiful Eyes**

Neville cleared his throat. The smell of herrings made him queasy. "Mrs. Snape was attacked by an Inferius. That Inferius happened to be a former student. Professor Snape destroyed the Inferius and rescued his wife. Ha- _Mr. Potter_ had an accident when he was trying to help Professor Snape."

"Oh."

"Yes, _'oh'_. Now you'd better tell me who has been spreading those … extraordinary stories."

Anne fidgeted. "Must I really, Mr. Longbottom? I'm sure they didn't mean any harm."

"Miss Flamel, no matter if they _meant_ harm or not, such stories invariably _do_ cause harm."

The girl hung her head, dismayed. "I – I didn't believe them, sir. Please, sir. And I never passed those rumours on."

She sounded sincere. And scared. How was it possible that _he_ was scaring a Seventh Year student, when he'd been a student himself less than a year ago? "I do believe you. Nevertheless I think it's best if you accompany me to Headmistress McGonagall now. The Aurors want to talk to you anyway."

"To me?" Her voice quivered.

"Yes, actually to both of us, but I've already answered their questions."

"But – but why?"

Neville pointed at plate and goblet. "Because we set out the Samhain feast. Don't worry, though. They just want to know if you noticed anything." He frowned, wrinkling his nose. "And what are you doing out here with that fish? You still haven't told me."

She gave him a timid smile. "Well, it's for the kittens, sir. I believe they've eaten all the food we set out for Samhain. And I thought they might like some nice herring. But because it … well … it smells _very much_ like the fish it is, I wanted to put it out here. I thought the kittens would find it anyway."

"Ah, I see." He couldn't help smiling back. She had very cute dimples. "Look, Miss Flamel, why don't you just put that tin on the wall over there? And then we'll go and talk to Headmistress McGonagall and the Aurors. Don't you agree that it's best to get difficult things over with as soon as possible?"

**oooOooo**

When Hermione opened her eyes, they were alone in the room and Severus was looking at her. They were lying on their sides, turned towards the centre of the bed.

Severus was very pale. The lines around his mouth and between his eyebrows stood out in sharp creases. But he looked rested all the same. The circles under his eyes were gone. _Without those deep lines of worry and tension, he would look young,_ she realised. _Or at least barely middle-aged._ They must have been asleep a long time. His hair was a mess: lank, slick tresses clinging to his skull. Someone must have performed a Shaving Charm on him though. There was not even a hint of stubble.

His beautiful dark eyes. At this close proximity they were not black, rather a very, very dark brown. She could see a halo of lighter sparks circling his pupils. Idly she wondered if those tiny bits of a brighter colour were responsible for how his eyes could blaze when he was angry … or making love to her.

"I love your eyes," Hermione whispered. Said eyes widened a little. She could almost hear what he was thinking: _"Foolish woman."_

She felt how her lips curled up into a silly, relieved smile. To wake and to find him with her! Hermione tentatively moved her left arm and was pleased to discover that the muscles obeyed her once more. Hesitantly she laid her palm on his cheek. His skin was warm and dry from a Cleaning Charm. Her fingertips curled into a caress, gently trailing his temple, cheekbone, jaw line to his mouth. _Such a sensitive mouth,_ she mused. When it was relaxed and unguarded, as it was now. How precious every little thing about him had become. Those expressive eyebrows. That prominent, haughty nose. The tangled strands of oily hair. _Maybe they could take a bath later on? And she might attempt to persuade him to try some Muggle toothpaste that worked wonders for tea stains on her own teeth._

Her hand rested on his cheek again. To her surprise he sighed contentedly, his eyelids momentarily fluttering shut.

"I love you," she murmured.

His eyes flew open. For a moment he stared at her. Hermione could feel how he swallowed. He moved his lips as if to wet them. She was about to say that he didn't need to say anything –

When she suddenly felt _his_ hand on her cheek, echoing her caress. The sparks in his eyes that she'd admired just moments ago seemed to have ignited. A deep sigh escaped her, as her whole body began to tingle from his touch. But he did not move his hand away and waited until she looked at him again.

"I love you, too, Hermione."

**oooOooo**

She must have smiled, because he stroked a finger along her lower lip before tracing her jaw line up to her ear and sliding his fingers into her hair and to the back of her head. As if on cue both of them moved a little closer to each other. Hermione awkwardly lifted the bedcovers, so she could feel his body against hers without the duvet getting in the way.

Hermione gasped when she felt him pressed against her. He was quite obviously well rested indeed.

Severus drew her closer still, until Hermione felt she could drown in his dark gaze. Their lips touched. Soft. Warm. Gentle at first, then more insistent. She closed her eyes when his tongue slid into her mouth.

Much later they lay on their sides again, faces flushed, bodies sticky with the sweat of shared passion. Severus spooned her, both arms possessively curled around her. It should have been an uncomfortable position. But it wasn't. She felt safe and happy. The last thought before Hermione fell asleep again was that she wouldn't mind staying in his arms like that forever.

**oooOooo**


	125. Remember, Remember

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Remember, Remember**

Hermione marched into the dungeon precisely five minutes before the students arrived. With decisive flicks of her wands she prepared the workstations. She frowned at the sluggish behaviour of her left wand. _Would she never get the hang of this?_ She bit down on her lip. Concentrating hard, she executed the necessary wand-movement to open the doors of the storeroom with utmost caution. She knew better than to try levitating the glasses with the rat tails with her left.

BANG!

Hermione winced. At least the doors were open now. Hopefully she'd have the chance to pursue her wand-lessons with her husband and Flitwick now.

The noise of many feet and voices drifted down the corridors. High pitched squeals and muttered insults mingled. Double Potions with the Second Year Gryffindors and Slytherins was almost upon her. Hermione straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her chest, allowing her apprentice robes to billow around her.

_I know I promised,_ she thought. _But …_

The door opened and an avalanche of student robes, adorned with chattering mouths, sleep-ruffled hair and keen children's eyes burst into the room. With surprising speed the children sorted themselves behind their respective desks. This was one of two Potions classes that was not strictly segregated between Slytherins and Gryffindors. Hermione wasn't sure if the same happened in other classes or indeed if any other teacher knew about that. All _she_ knew was that having Alina Petrel seated next to Barret Cruddace and Myrrdin Loewe partnered with Geilis Duncan with a playful Haemon Rackharrow just behind them might possibly be good for inter-house relationships. It certainly was _not_ good for the peace and quiet of her classroom.

She drew herself up to her full height and glared at the students.

"I'm very sorry to be such an inconvenience to you," she snarled. "But as you can see, certain rumours about my untimely demise at the hands of my husband were only that: nasty rumours."

Hermione flicked her right wand in the direction of the blackboard, where the brewing instructions for the Hair-Raising Potion appeared instantly.

"I suggest that you start working. Now. And no chattering. This is potions time, not story telling time."

A wave of shocked gasps flowed through the dungeon. None of the students dared to meet her eyes in the subsequent hush. Hermione snorted and sat down at the desk in front, drawing a stack of essays from one of her study groups towards her.

This was not the manner she usually taught – much to the chagrin of her husband, who saw a relaxed atmosphere in his dungeon as a danger to life and limbs of students. A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. _Severus would probably approve of her bad temper: More discipline in the dungeon. And all students alive and kicking. Though if she found out who exactly had been spreading those rumours, she wouldn't make any guarantees …_

**oooOooo**

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November," Hermione muttered, as she hurried towards the Room of Requirement, trying to keep up with the longer legs of her husband, who was swooping ahead of her with swirling robes and long strides.

_And why did the Order meeting have to start so early?_ she groused in her mind. There had been no time for a nap after dinner. Not that she had necessarily contemplated a _nap_ as such. When she ducked into the room, Hermione suppressed a sigh. Desks arranged in a businesslike "U", refreshments … it was going to be a long night. And she had to teach Double Potions on Monday morning … At least that particular class was only Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

She slid into a seat next to Severus at the back of the room. Ignoring his customary scowl, she smiled at him shakily. "Butterbeer, Severus?"

**oooOooo**

"Mrs. Snape, please tell the Order members what you remember of Tuesday evening."

Hermione rose from her seat and took a deep breath. She focused on Minerva. It was easier that way. "At around ten o'clock I went outside to patrol the gardens. Just a quick check to make sure there were no students out of bounds. In the rose garden, I happened on what I initially thought was a student in the disguise of a Weasley Wheezes costume …"

**oooOooo**

"Is there anything else you remember?"

Hermione frowned. Everything had happened so quickly. Her memories of the evening were foggy and disconnected. Memory loss was one of the common side-effects of entering the Realm of Death. She was actually very lucky if only the memory of that very evening was impaired.

But there _was_ something. Her brows knit together in intense concentration. _Something. Roses. Rosemary. Lavender. The fragrance of blossoms and herbs. And then …_

"I'm not sure," she said at last. "But I think just before I was attacked, I noticed a strange scent. Something very sweet, musky. Like a perfume. That's really all I can think of."

"Thank you, Hermione." Minerva gave her a tight-lipped smile.

With a sigh, Hermione plopped down on her seat again. When Severus shoved her glass of butterbeer into her hand, she smiled gratefully. The current version of his scowl seemed to indicate concern, rather than bad temper.

"Severus – what do you make of that incident?"

Hermione watched how Severus took the floor. Still agitated, he needed room to pace. The Order was in for a show.

"When I arrived in the rose garden, Hermione was already unconscious. An Inferius had her at the throat and was trying to strangle her."

Involuntarily, Hermione's fingers went to her neck.

"I didn't recognise him at once. Only when he let Hermione go and came for me, I saw that it was Colin Creevey. The most remarkable thing about him was that he was talking. Alternately ranting and raving nearly incoherent insults and showing remarkable lucidity, like flash-backs of his dead personality."

"But that's impossible!" Ron interrupted. "Inferi can't talk. And they are mindless creatures. Everyone knows that."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** Hair-Raising Potion is part of the Second Year's Potions curriculum according to the HPL.

Hermione is quoting the Guy Fawkes rhyme for two reasons: one, that scene takes place on Guy Fawkes day, and two, she will be asked to remember and recount her experiences.


	126. More Things in Heaven and Earth

_"But that's impossible!" Ron interrupted. "Inferi can't talk. And they are mindless creatures. Everyone knows that."_

**More Things in Heaven and Earth**

Severus stopped in front of Ron. Her friend paled and glanced at Hermione in a frantic, silent plea for help.

"Sadly _'everyone' _wasn't in the rose garden on Tuesday night," Severus hissed. He straightened and turned his back on Ron, who visibly wilted in his chair. "It was an Inferius. It talked. And it showed remnants of intelligence."

Harry cleared his throat. "_Err…_ Severus, do you recall what it said?"

Severus nodded. Two flicks of his wand produced a pensieve-projector and a silver screen. Hermione paled. He hadn't warned her about that. He'd show his memories of the attack to the Order.

**oooOooo**

"Have you finally decided if you're going to faint?"

Severus' smooth voice penetrated the rushing sound that filled her ears. It was an effort to turn her head and glare at him, but she managed. "Give me a moment," she whispered. "Still need to think about it."

The shock of being pulled against his side in public was almost enough to clear her head. The Pepper-Up Potion that was gruffly thrust into her shaking hands did the rest.

With another flick of Severus' wand the projector and the screen disappeared again. "I hope you enjoyed the show. There will be no repeat performance."

Harry patted his bandaged arm. "I should hope not – I doubt that I can wield my wand with my mouth."

"That would be … _quite_ … an awkward posture," Snape said, quirking an eyebrow. "But as they say, to each his own."

Ginny choked on her pumpkin juice.

"Severus," Hermione hissed. "This is supposed to be an Order meeting!"

Black eyebrows raised, Snape tilted his head. "Oh, really? Dear me, I never noticed."

Ron snorted. But Minerva had had enough.

"Back on topic, children, or I'll wash out your mouths with soap. And that includes you, Severus. Does anyone have anything useful to contribute?"

"Those insults are bizarre," Hestia Jones said. "What could have caused them?"

"Well, _'vox vulgata'_ or _'linguam confundo'_ work quite well on living persons," Ginny offered.

"As Ron and Percy can testify," Hermione whispered.

"He sounded like a parrot trained to insult everyone," Lois suggested. She'd been invited to attend because of Alina's involvement. "Or like those jar-" She frowned and glanced at Ron. "Those furry little creatures you showed me in the Forbidden Forest that day."

"Jarveys?"

Lois nodded. Severus frowned, but kept silent.

"Okay," Harry said. "We know there are spells to manipulate the language of living persons. Maybe someone adapted a spell like that so it works on Inferi."

"If it was an Inferius," Sturgis put in. "What if it was a zombie?"

Snape shook his head. "No. I would have known that at once. Also, once speech has been restored to zombies by the bell known as Dyrim, they speak the way they did in life. Although I remember Mr. Creevey as an annoying student, I cannot recall that his conduct was ever disrespectful. It was a spell, or a combination of a spell and something else. But whatever it was, it obviously didn't work; Creevey's speech was mostly incoherent. I also doubt that whoever raised him intended Creevey to warn us."

"Another thing that bothers me," Sturgis added. "The whole thing makes no sense. If they wanted a speaking puppet, why not use the _Imperius_?"

"Maybe because you can fight the _Imperius_ off?" Hermione suggested. "And normally an Inferius is a mindless creature, reduced to the purpose given to it by its master."

"But not in Colin's case. He didn't seem to _have_ a purpose – except for attacking you, Hermione. Then there's that warning. And I think he recognised you, Professor Snape," Draco said.

"It might –" Neville stopped and blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to interrupt."

Snape rolled his eyes. But his next words surprised everyone. "Go on, Mr. Longbottom. We're collecting ideas. If you have something to contribute, we're all ears."

"Oh. _Err…_" Shocked, Neville cleared his throat. "Maybe how the real Colin peeked through had nothing to do with the original spell. Maybe it was the _day_. And _err…_ the Samhain feast that Miss Flamel and I set out in the rose garden. According to the old legends, the Veil between the Life and Death grows thin on Samhain, thin enough for the dead to pass through. And if they eat from a food put out for them by those who knew them, they regain speech, and even the power of touch."

"Gobbledygook," protested Podmore. "That's nonsense. Just like that drivel about the Peverells and how they tricked Death personified."

Severus snorted. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"What?" Sturgis asked belligerently. "Do you honestly believe that crap? Come on, boy. You're supposed to be an Auror now."

"Well," Harry said carefully. "Albus Dumbledore believed that the Peverell brothers were merely extremely talented wizards who created the items known as the _'Deathly Hallows'_."

_"Albus Dumbledore,"_ Severus retorted, his voice bitter, "believed many things. Some of them only because he wanted to believe them."

"Snape, you can't possibly support this nonsense!"

"As you must be aware, Podmore, I have quite a reputation for supporting … _nonsense_." Severus' eyes glittered darkly. "Concerning the Hallows, we know at least some facts that support this particular nonsense. The Hallows exist. And while it would be appealing to believe that the Resurrection Stone is merely a tool created by a man, I can tell you that it is made of the same stone as the Nine Gates of Death."

"Not only that," Hermione murmured, as she remembered something. "There _are_ trees growing at the river. I saw them. They had no leaves, and I don't know what kind they were. But I remember seeing them, how their dark branches stirred in the mists above me."

She twisted her fingers together, so it wouldn't be quite as obvious that her hands were shaking.

_"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,"_ Lois quoted with a soft voice. _"Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."_

"Indeed," Severus sighed.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The title of the chapter and the lines quoted by Lois are from "Hamlet", scene V, by William Shakespeare.  



	127. Debates and Discussions, No Conclusions

**Debates and Discussions; No Conclusions**

"So the Elder Wand was made of wood from a tree that grows in the Realm of Death?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded. "It seems likely."

Harry's hand went up to his forehead, rubbing at his scar. "And the cloak?"

"While it is gratifying that you believe that I have attained omniscience, I'm afraid I must disappoint you. I have no idea if there is a connection between the cloak and the Realm of Death. Of course that doesn't mean there is none. While I have never met _'Death personified'_ –" Severus looked down his nose at Podmore, his nostrils flaring in contempt. "– I've also never ventured beyond the Ninth Gate. As my presence here proves. Mr. Creevey probably could have told us more."

"Did you ask him?" Sturgis demanded.

"No, I did not," Severus said, stiffening in his seat. "I was otherwise occupied."

"But you _did_ send him back, didn't you? " Sturgis insisted. "And if you did that, why couldn't you ask him some questions?"

"Because my wife wouldn't have survived had I wasted time on bestowing speech on Creevey and interviewing him at length, you imbecile," Severus hissed.

"Colin won't come back," Harry interrupted. "Podmore, have you forgotten your Auror training? To raise Inferi, you need something to raise them _from_. Namely, a dead body. Or at least parts of a dead body. Severus reduced him to a heap of ashes, and we've taken care of any remaining bone splinters."

"What about the others in those graves?" Minerva asked.

"Could we transfigure the …remains in the ground?" suggested Hermione. _So that was why Dumbledore was burnt._

"The bodies should have been burnt at once," complained Andromeda. She might have helped with the Chalice of Neith, but her bitterness had barely softened.

"At that time we had other priorities, Andromeda, and well you know it," Molly Weasley chastised her. "There were the wounded and the survivors to take care of."

"Hermione's idea has merits," Severus stated, ignoring the squabbling women. "Maybe this Inferius was only an experiment that got out of hand. We should ascertain that the other victims of the war are out of anyone's reach."

"At least Voldemort was burnt," Harry muttered.

Somehow Hermione managed to put her glass down without spilling anything. She balled shaking hands into fists. _Get a grip, Granger, _she told herself furiously. _You're an adult and a full Order member._

"So who's behind all this?" asked Ron. "I mean, beyond the usual suspects." He glanced at Draco, who just rolled his eyes. Harry groaned. Percy reshuffled the papers in front of him. Then Ron winked at Hermione. "I was talking about _the toad_, guys. Not even I am so daft to suggest that Draco is still our enemy."

"Which would, of course, put Draco in the best position to spy on us for our enemies," Snape commented idly.

"Severus!" Hermione hissed.

"Hermione, he's right." Draco smiled tightly. "I'd make a perfect spy right now, caught between my parents' old connections and my new allegiances."

Harry gazed at Draco thoughtfully. But Ron remained relentless. "Well, so what about Umbridge? I mean, someone _has_ to be behind all this."

"Umbridge never was a Death Eater. She supported some of Voldemort's policies, because they fit her own sick notions about blood purity. But she despised him for being a mere half-blood. Besides, that woman is neither smart enough or powerful enough to raise a normal Inferius. Much less adapt the spell used to raise one," Andromeda said with a dismissive gesture.

"I am inclined to agree with Andromeda," Snape said. "Dolores is as cruel and vicious as they come, but she has always been an underling, and not a leader."

Hermione noticed that Lois fidgeted. She smiled encouragingly at her friend. The Muggle woman straightened her shoulders, trying to catch Minerva's eyes. When the Headmistress nodded to her, Lois cleared her throat.

"I've only met Umbridge at the trial," Lois said. "But she did strike me as a really nasty person. If you think she is _capable_ of this, but that she lacks the _uh…_ resources – could it be that she somehow found someone to help her? Someone more powerful?"

Severus leaned back in his chair. His long, slender index-finger drifted up to his mouth, trailing his lower lip. But he didn't comment.

"What about the warning?" Harry asked. "Let's discuss what Colin said, maybe that will help. _'Watch the robes … not the wizards … kill … kittens … wand … not what you see'_. What do you make of that?"

"Maybe there's something about the robes of the … of whoever is responsible that is especially dangerous?" Ginny suggested. "Could you do something to Invisibility Cloaks that makes wizards completely untrackable? Maybe that's how those Death Eaters manage to Apparate in and kill the Muggle-borns and disappear again without a trace?"

"But where should they get all those Cloaks, Ginny?" Hermione protested. "Invisibility Cloaks are incredibly rare."

"I still think the _'kittens'_ part refers to the toad," Ron insisted. "I certainly wished to blast all her damn kittens off the walls when she was High Inquisitor here."

"I don't see how the warning could possibly refer to Filch's kittens. Though they are becoming quite a nuisance," Minerva agreed. "Draco, Percy: Have you noticed anything odd about Umbridge? Any meetings with strangers? Anything at all?"

Both men shook their heads. "Not really. She's as obnoxious as ever," Draco said. "Parading her pink robes, wand and lipstick around the Ministry. And she's still awfully cheerful about her great 'victory' over Harry."

Ron made a gagging noise. "I still can't believe that she's charmed her wand to look pink. Women. _Really._"

Ginny glared at her brother. "And who's been selling those charms?" Her own wand was still orange adorned with black kittens since the Weasleys' Wand Wheeze she'd put on it for Halloween hadn't quite worn off yet.

Ron shrugged and grinned. "If you're silly enough to buy them. Money makes the world go round."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The "usual suspects" is a nod to the movie "Casablanca".**  
**


	128. New Spies and Their Master

**New Spies and Their Master**

"Very well," Minerva concluded. "I don't think we will reach a conclusion tonight. Let me sum up the discussion so far:  
"The warning may refer to special cloaks that the perpetrators wore. Either magical cloaks or a kind of uniform.  
"The reference to kittens may implicate an involvement of Dolores Umbridge. To interpret it as a suggestion to kill Filch's kittens seems unlikely.  
"Concerning the wand: Creevey could not have referred to the Elder Wand as he didn't know about it when he died. Therefore he possibly wanted to indicate that someone used a wand to change the ritual for raising an Inferius.  
"The last part appears to warn us that something is not what it seems. Or someone."

Hermione glanced at Severus. The line between his eyebrows had deepened, and his finger was still pressed to his lips. He was deep in thought.

Minerva went on, "Draco and Percy will continue to keep their eyes open in the ministry. I will endeavour to devise a spell that will disintegrate the bones of any victims of the war that are still left in the ground so that no other Inferi can be raised from those graves.

"Does anyone have to add anything?"

**oooOooo**

"Did Order meetings always take so long? Or am I just getting old?" Hermione complained once they reached their private quarters. "I feel drained."

Severus finally disengaged from his private musings. "You've been up and about only for the third day. And it was a long meeting. It's normal to feel exhausted." He frowned at her. "Are you sure you feel up to teaching tomorrow morning?"

Hermione nodded. "It's only Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. I should be able to manage."

"I'll take your study groups in the afternoons next week," Severus announced. "You need to get your energy back if you want to complete your own work with me satisfactorily."

"Yes, sir." Seven years in his classroom had taught her not to contradict him when he used that particular tone.

He stepped closer to her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he drew her against his body. "Go to bed, Hermione. You need your sleep."

"What about you? I know that you're not in a much better shape than I am."

"Ah, but I've had years of practice of existing on exhaustion instead of sleep." He slanted a wry grin at her. He added, "I'll be with you within an hour, I should think. But Draco, Percy and Minerva are coming to see me in a few minutes."

"Draco?" Hermione frowned. "Why?"

Her husband's face grew very serious. "Minerva suspects that someone in the Ministry may indeed work with whoever is behind all this. I agree with her.

"Shacklebolt has distanced himself from the Order due to political necessity. While Andromeda did assist the Order after my conviction, it is possible that her priorities do not coincide completely with the mission of the Order as it stands. And there are still many powerful witches and wizards in the Wizengamot who were at least sympathetic to Voldemort's cause."

"So you'll be in charge of our spies inside the ministry?"

He raised his eyebrows, as if he was surprised at the equanimity of her reaction. "Yes," he replied.

For a short moment she allowed herself to rest her head against his chest, delighting in the warmth of his body, the touch of his hands on her shoulders. "Good," she said in a low voice. "You're perfect for that job."

When she looked up, she caught how he minutely shook his head at her. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Surprised that I'm not going all Gryffindor on you about spying _'on our own'_? Severus, I'm not Harry. And while I'm grateful to Andromeda and Kingsley for their help in getting you out of Azkaban, I am not likely to forget that they also had a part in how you got there and in what happened there. Look at Draco. People change. _He _changed for the better. Others may change for the worse. And if nothing comes of it, so much the better."

She snaked her hands around Severus' neck. In a moment of rare courage, she pulled him towards her so she could kiss him. His mouth was firm, as unyielding as the whole man, but at the same time his lips were soft and warm. "Try to keep them safe."

Severus sighed. "I always do, Hermione. Try, that is."

**oooOooo**

It was almost midnight when Minerva McGonagall finally returned to her office. She was weary to her bones and her mouth felt fuzzy from talking so much.

_At least a nightcap in the peace and quiet of my office to unwind,_ she thought, _as it's already way too late to contemplate a 'good night's sleep'._

She stepped out of the fireplace and dusted off her robes, before she made a beeline to her liquor cabinet. _Something sweeter today,_ she reflected and chose the Glenmorangie. After pouring a generous dram, she slumped down in one of the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace. Gratefully she inhaled the zesty aroma of the whisky. The first swallow burned with a comforting, velvety fire down her throat until it settled in her stomach with a mellow glow.

Almost automatically, her gaze flicked to the golden frame of the painting behind her desk. "Albus? Are you there? We had a meeting tonight that you might be interested in."

When there was no answer, Minerva only groaned. Probably out and about again with Salazar. _Hopefully you're a bit more circumspect with the choice of location for your cavorting and canoodling this time, Albus_. Then she blinked at the painting. Blinked again.

And dropped her glass.

Albus Dumbledore was there, right inside the frame, just where he was supposed to be.

But he did not move or speak. No fake twinkle glittered in his eyes. He stood inside the painting and looked at her. As stiff, immobile and dead as any Muggle painting.

**oooOooo**


	129. What More is There to Say

**What More is There to Say **

It was almost four in the morning when Hermione and Severus returned to their quarters.

Severus, along with the other professors had spent hours trying to discover what had caused Dumbledore's portrait to freeze up. But to no avail.

By now Severus looked almost like a ghost. His skin was so pale that it appeared almost chalk white, the lines around his mouth and at the bridge of his nose were more pronounced than ever. He sported dark and swollen circles under his eyes. Yet he was filled with a tense, nervous energy that manifested itself in jerky movements and a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

When he slammed the door of the bedroom shut behind them with a bang and proceeded to pound the wood with his fists, Hermione jumped, her heart thudding so hard that she could feel it inside her throat.

This kind of behaviour she normally expected from Harry rather than Severus. It went a long way to tell her just how much this newest trouble affected her husband. Biting down on her lower lip, she moved to stand next to him. His lips had thinned to tight line, his hair hung in limp strands around his face. She winced when she saw the bruises that were already forming around his knuckles. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared from the effort of trying to beat in the solid wood of the dungeon door with his naked fists.

"Damn you, Albus," he ground out. "Not even in death you can leave me alone."

Hermione inhaled deeply. Harry had faced a Norwegian Ridgeback while still at school. As Severus' apprentice and his wife, she should be able to deal with a distraught potions master. She reached up and laid a hand over his fist. "You'll need bruise balm on this."

To her surprise he allowed himself to be led into the bathroom and when she produced the small pot with the salve, he submitted to her ministrations without another word.

When they were about to climb into bed, Hermione finally dared to voice her question. "So you have really no idea what happened to … make him freeze up?"

Severus shook his head. "No. Portrait-lore is an obscure branch of magic. The guild of painters is just as reticent about their secrets of trade as the wand-makers or the potions-masters." He sighed. "All I can say is that he was not petrified like the paintings in the Forbidden Gallery. He was not stunned. The painting itself was not hexed or jinxed. The spells we used tonight would have revealed that at least."

Hermione swallowed hard. There was one idea she just couldn't get out of her head, no matter how much she tried. "Are you … are you sure that … that nothing could have been done to – to his –"

"To his remains?"

She nodded.

"The body was burned," he reminded her. "They buried only a glamour, an after-image. And when the tomb was destroyed last spring, even that was annihilated. No. Albus Dumbledore will never walk this earth again."

"But?" She was certain there was a _'but'_. Something in his voice …

Severus shook his head at her irritably. "Can't you refrain from asking questions for once? At least for five minutes? Which is about all that is left of this night, anayway."

"I think both of us would rather not think about Albus Dumbledore," Hermione said slowly. "I'm not a psychologist or a therapist. But even _I_ know that you cannot deal with the past by ignoring it. Right now we need to find out what happened to that portrait, and if you can't even bring yourself to tell _me _what you think –"

With three strides he loomed in front of her, eyes glittering and black.

"Shut up," he hissed.

Hermione recoiled slightly, but she stood her ground. Although she felt shaky with lack of sleep and all the things she would rather not think or feel concerning Albus Dumbledore.

"No," she said.

"No?" He blinked at her, taken aback.

"No, I will not shut up," she repeated. "We have never talked about Dumbledore's death. But obviously you need to before you can tell me what you're thinking concerning the paralysis of his portrait. Therefore, start talking."

For a moment Snape looked as if he was tempted to draw his wand on her. Then he took a step back and exhaled a shuddering breath. "You've seen the memories," he muttered at last. "What else is there to say?"

"Oh God, Severus!"

He slumped down heavily. He propped his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands. Hermione sat next to him on the edge of the bed. For a long time the room was cloaked in silence. She shivered a little with fatigue and the chill of the nightly dungeons. But this conversation was important. And long overdue. She would wait for as long as it took.

In her mind, she heard Severus' voice again, as she had heard it in the courtroom of the Wizengamot: _"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?" _

"I wanted … I wished …" When he looked up, his eyes were burning. "Merlin!" he snarled. "Hermione, what do you expect me to say? That I wanted his trust, his respect, his friendship, his forgiveness? I did, damn him. _I did._ The more fool I.

"I was looking forward to the final confrontation with Voldemort. I would not survive, of that I was certain. But I did not mind; I would be free at least, free from my failures. He never trusted me, you know? He only trusted the Vow that bound me to him and my failures. After all, my failures forged me into the perfect tool for his plans. And it was as that tool that he respected me. As a person he pitied me at the most. As for the rest …

"I did everything he asked of me. What more is there to say?"

**oooOooo**


	130. A Good Person, and a Good Teacher

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**A Good Person, and a Good Teacher**

For a moment Severus glared at Hermione in silence. Then he spit out, "And _don't_ look at me like that! I do not want your pity! I do not need your pity! And besides, what is it to you, anyway? You loved him, just like everyone else."

"Yes, I did," she replied, forcing herself to remain calm. "Just like you. Dumbledore had a great gift of commanding love and respect. But he also possessed a ruthlessness when it came to using that love and respect that I have never encountered before. Oh, he was certainly justified. Defeating Voldemort justified all means, didn't it? Sacrificing a child's life, sacrificing _your_ soul.  
"And pity? I don't know about that." Abruptly rage rose inside her. She jumped up and started pacing. "Mostly, when I think about Dumbledore, about those memories of yours, I – I just feel so _fucking_ angry. Is that pity?" She blinked quickly, but it was too late. Impatiently she dashed the tears from her eyes.

Strangely, her volatile reaction seemed to calm Severus. He sat unmoving and watched her with glittering eyes. Only his hands, still balled into fists, betrayed his tension. "He did what he had to do," he commented finally.

"That may be so," Hermione hissed. "But does that excuse everything? He should have trusted you. _You!_ Not the spy, not the traitor, not his oh so perfect tool, not the … the _remorse_ in you that he could use so _conveniently _to make you do everything that he deemed necessary. He _should_ have respected you. And he should have forgiven you."

Furiously she wiped her sleeve across her eyes, but for some reason she couldn't stop crying. "It's not fair."

"Life is not fair, Hermione."

She snorted. "Do you think I don't know that? I may have been a Gryffindor, but I'm not stupid and I'm not a naïve little girl anymore."

She stepped between his knees and put her hands around his head, intertwining her fingers behind his neck. He raised his head to meet her gaze. He looked tired, exhausted, incredibly sad, but calmer.

"Can you forgive him?" she asked at last. "But even more important, can you forgive yourself?"

**oooOooo**

Neville scowled at his spade. The November air was cool and crisp, but after digging up two plots behind the greenhouses, he was comfortably warm. He didn't mind the menial labour; in fact, he'd been looking forward to working on Anne Flamel's honours project. However, he had _not_ expected her to be late on the first day of the project. Well, at least he could hand out her detention right then and there. But the thing was, he did not _want _to give her a detention. He _wanted_ her to love herbology as much as he did. He glared at the wooden door and the small drawbridge that connected the hallway near the kitchens and Hufflepuff House with the Hogwarts gardens.

As if on cue the door opened and a tall, thin black scarecrow of a man emerged, followed by the plump form of a female student who had to run in order to keep up with the teacher's long stride. Neville gulped and tightened his grip around the handle of his spade. Then Snape swooped down on him.

"Mr. Longbottom. Here's one of your students for you."

Neville managed straighten his shoulders and to meet the potions master's black gaze without flinching. "Thank you, for bringing her down, Professor. I've been expecting her."

"Ah. Yes. I'm afraid we – the Headmistress and I – detained Miss Flamel."

"I'm really sorry, sir," Anne hastened to add with an apprehensive glance at the black-clad figure next to her. "I didn't want to be late, but …" She trailed off with a shrug.

Neville nodded. "That's all right. May I ask what kept you?"

"I assume I owe you the courtesy of an explanation," Snape said sourly. "We needed Miss Flamel's assistance in contacting one of her relatives, who happens to be an expert in portrait-lore."

"It's my aunt, sir," Anne explained. "Claire Dubois. She's a mistress in the painters' guild. At the moment she's working at the Met in America, making wizarding pictures safe for a big Muggle exhibition. But she has agreed to come to Hogwarts next weekend."

"Ah, I see," Neville said. So they _still_ had no clue about what had caused the paralysis of Dumbledore's portrait. "It's really quite disturbing what happened to Professor Dumbledore's portrait, isn't it?"

Snape's already thin lips froze into a straight white line. "Quite." He surveyed the dug up earth of the garden, before looking back at Neville's spade. "No foolish wand-waving here today, Lo– Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville allowed himself a tiny grin at the respectful form of address. "No, Professor. Good old Muggle-muscle work. Miss Flamel's project is a reconstruction of the herb garden of Hildegard of Bingen. To keep the properties of medicinal plants as pure as possible no magic will be used in the gardening at all."

To Neville's surprise Professor Snape nodded appreciatively. "That is an interesting project, Miss Flamel. You should get together with my – with my apprentice one of these days. My – wife's current project involves Muggle homeopathy and medicinal potions."

"I'd love to do that, sir," Anne said breathlessly. "Thank you, sir."

Snape nodded. "Mr. Longbottom. Miss Flamel." Spinning on his heels, he turned and strode back to the castle.

Miss Flamel's shoulders slumped with relief. Neville couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. It's only …" She fell silent. She blushed even more fiercely than before.

"Professor Snape can be quite intimidating," Neville admitted. "But he _is _a very good teacher. And a good person."

"Oh, yes!" Anne agreed readily. "Absolutely. I'm just not very brave, so I can't help feeling a bit … scared."

"Well," Neville said. "Then we'd best start working, Miss Flamel. The garden won't dig itself up. – There's another spade over there, and please put on your dragon-hide gloves."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Based on personal experience with strict and demanding teachers I respectfully disagree with Joanne K. Rowling's interpretation of Snape as a "bad" and "bullying" teacher. I also believe that the biased perspective of a teenaged boy as presented in the books does not provide sufficient evidence for a completely negative interpretation of Snape as a teacher. As far as Neville is concerned: while Neville was scared of Snape, I do believe that Neville would not necessarily see Snape as a bad teacher. Especially now that Neville is repsonsible for the lives and the education of students himself.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	131. Out There

**Out There**

"… we never discovered if the Elder Wand was destroyed when Dumbledore's tomb was blown up," Minerva McGonagall continued. " What I am afraid of is that the presence of an Inferius might mean that the Resurrection Stone has indeed been found." The Headmistress aimlessly stirred a cup of tea long since grown cold and stale. "And it wasn't an ordinary Inferius," she added. "Whoever raised Colin Creevey adapted the spell so the Inferius could speak. Not properly, mind, but if Professor Snape's idea is correct and poor Colin was only an unfortunate experiment, we may face troubles worse than the _Imperius_ curse.

"If worst comes to worst, we won't be safe even in death now."

Kingsley stared at the tea service on the table, the expensive porcelain, the golden rims, the silver spoons with their delicate ornaments. Only the best for the Minister of Magic and his guests. "At least there have been no more attacks on Muggle-born witches and wizards since we implemented the Muggle-borns Protection Act."

"But we still don't know who was behind those attacks," Minerva said sternly. "This may very well be nothing but the calm before the storm. Kingsley, we need to find out who is behind all this. Even with the aid of the Hallows it takes a great deal of power to raise an Inferius and to interfere with the soul-magic of a portrait. Especially this particular portrait.

"We have to assume that there is a powerful enemy out there. If someone has found the Resurrection Stone and gained ownership of the Elder Wand, it is possible that there is a new Dark Lord out there."

The Head of the Order of the Phoenix gazed at the Minister of Magic. The words she hadn't said seemed to echo in the silence of the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt stared at Minerva for a long time.

"Out there," he said at last. "Or in here."

**oooOooo**

"Hello there, Little Knights!"

"Hi, Professor Hagrid."

"Don't scowl, Alina, your face could freeze like that and where would that leave you?"

"Looking like her Head of House," Barret muttered.

Alina huffed and proceeded to ignore her friend in favour of cuddling old Fang.

"She just doesn't like that nickname," Alyah Beiond explained earnestly.

"At least everyone knows us," Jo Flamel offered with a broad smile.

"Can someone enlarge that table? There's too many of us."

"Sure." Ebe pointed his wand and narrowed his eyes. _"Engorgio!"_

"Ouch! Ebe, you almost squished me to a pulp!"

"Sorry, Terrwyn."

Hagrid cleared his throat. "Everyone seated, yes? Here's tea. And right, so who wants rock cakes?"

"Who has the best connections to dentists?"

"That would be me, Cato. Thanks all the same. Hagrid, keep the cakes coming." Then Alina noticed that there was something alive in the basket near the fireplace. "Hagrid, what's in that basket? Are those kittens?"

The other "knights" grimaced. "No more kittens, Alina," Ebe ordered. "We have more than enough kittens in Hogwarts right now."

"Oh, Merlin's garter belts, yes! Have you seen Mrs. Norris lately?" Myrrdin groused. "She's training them! All five of them. When I see them prowling in single file, arranged by size, my blood runs cold. Bad enough to have one snooping, scruffy cat around the castle. Now there's six of them!"

"It's not a cat," Hagrid said. "And I doubt that the Head of Slytherin House would look favourably on a pet like that. It's an orphaned jarvey."

"But jarveys are _cute!"_ Alina exclaimed and dropped to her knees next to the basket. A moment later a tiny, sleek, black weasel lay curled in the crook of her arm, making tiny mewling sounds. "What happened to its parents and siblings?"

Hagrid squirmed uncomfortably, almost crushing his chair in the process. "There's been someone or something out in the Forest lately, well, not quite lately, really, to be honest and accurate, like. It's struck first over a year ago. Killing them jarveys. Could have been hippogriffs, but I'm not sure. Them jarveys have a high value on the black market, because of their musk. It's an essential part of magical perfumes. Like them French colognes."

"Awww, it's cute!" Alyah admired the baby jarvey. "Can it say any insults yet?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Not yet, but it'll start picking them up any day now. Which is exactly why you can't have it, Alina. Or do you really want to keep your House in negative points for the duration of your time at Hogwarts?"

Ebe and Barret eyed Alina warily. Obviously they were not at all sure if that would bother their friend. Alina tickled the tiny jarvey. In a demonstration of trust, it stretched out along her forearm on its back, tiny paws in the air.

"Hagrid?"

"Yes, Alina?"

"You said it doesn't know any insults now. How does it learn its language?"

"Well, normally from its ma and da, of course."

A thoughtful expression appeared on Alina's face. "So if its parents were, say, French, it would learn French insults?"

Hagrid's brows furrowed. "I suppose. I could ask Olympe, if you want me to."

"Hmm. So if it never heard any English insults, it wouldn't be able to say them?"

"Uh … I suppose so?"

Alina turned to her Ebe and Geilis. "How well does Professor Snape speak Latin?"

**oooOooo**

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at his desk and stared at the stacks of parchment in front of him. He couldn't remember when he'd had a good night's sleep for the last time.

_Umbridge.  
Tonks-Black._

Two women he didn't trust farther than he could throw them without magic. Which wasn't very far. Especially Umbridge.

Wearily he rubbed his forehead. He'd wanted this job. _Power._ To change the wizarding world. To make it better. Because he _fucking could_ see how things might be – now that Voldemort was gone.

_Voldemort._ A mirthless smile flickered across his face. Never think _'it could be worse'_. Someone might listen. _Damn._ What was he supposed to do? Was there anything he _could _do?

**oooOooo**


	132. History of Magic

**History of Magic  
**

The ceiling of the Great Hall brought the dove-grey light of a darkening November afternoon into the castle. Hermione was aimlessly patrolling the aisles between the long tables, keeping an eye on the students. It was a quiet day – most students were actually busy with their homework and seemingly too tired to get into mischief. _Must be that dreary autumn weather,_ Hermione mused and suppressed a yawn. She felt exhausted herself, although she hadn't worked much that day.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Snape!"

Hermione's stomach did a curious little flip. Would she ever get used to being addressed as _'Mrs. Snape'?_

"Hello, Miss Flamel."

The brown-haired girl that Neville liked so much sat next to Alyah Beiond, Alina's orphaned friend, at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione smiled at the girl. "And Miss Beiond."

"Miss Flamel, my husband told me about your herbology project. He thought it might be interesting for us to compare notes. I understand that you're trying to recreate Hildegard of Bingen's herb-garden here at Hogwarts?"

The girl's green eyes brightened. "Oh, yes. That's the practical part of my project. I'm also working on an essay that puts the garden and its herbs into its historical and magical context. It's really fascinating – Hildegard of Bingen was a witch, but she was also an abbess."

To Hermione's surprise, Alyah nodded. "There were a number of magical women who were accepted by the Church and by the Muggles in the Middle Ages, in spite of the witch-hunts. Muggles call them _'female mystics'_."

"That is indeed interesting." Hermione sat down across from Anne and Alyah. "Why do you know so much about that topic, Alyah? That's not exactly a subject I'd normally expect a Third Year student to be interested in." Actually, given the rousing lectures of Professor Binns, Hermione would be surprised to find any student in all of Hogwarts who was actually interested in history, be it magical or Muggle.

Alyah's answering smile wavered unhappily. "Because of my mother, Mrs. Snape. She – she was a professor for history of magic at the library of Al-Iskandariya. She was working on a paper about that when she was killed."

"I'm so sorry, Alyah," Hermione said. "You know that you can always come to me, if you need help, or someone to talk to, yes?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Snape. Everyone has been very kind." Alyah's small, bony face seemed to shrink even more, while her dark eyes widened in an effort to hold back tears. "I do need help," Alyah admitted. "I want to finish my mother's project. I have her notes, but the books I need are not available to students."

Hermione frowned. She couldn't remember having seen any history books in the Restricted Section. But while she had always studied diligently for Professor Binns' classes, she had to admit that her historical research had concentrated on topics of practical relevance or personal involvement, such as the history of Hogwarts or the house-elves. "Which books do you need, Alyah? Maybe I can help you?"

The girl's face lit up instantly. "Oh, that would be wonderful! The one thing that I need most of all at the moment is a book on the secret treaties between the wizarding world and the Catholic Church that led up to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and eventually the end of the witch-hunts. I need to establish the frame of refr- reference … _uh _…concerning time and events that my mother used as the basis for her research."

"Secret treaties with the Church? I don't think Professor Binns ever mentioned something like that."

"I think I can explain that," Anne said unexpectedly. "They are really secret treaties, Mrs. Snape. And at least theoretically they are still in effect today. They have never had as much impact here in Britain as on the continent, so most people believe they are just a myth. Like the _'Deathly Hallows'_, for example."

Hermione jumped. _Anne couldn't possibly know about the Hallows, could she? That part of Voldemort's defeat was not widely known. _To distract from her uneasiness, she asked, "Why the difference between Britain and the continent?"

"Oh, because of the witches and wizards in the royal family, of course – I mean, if the rulers of a country actually support the development of spells that allow magical folk to survive witch-trials, it's just not as important to implement those treaties down to the last dot on an i."

Alyah nodded. "That's why there's so much more material about all of that in the library of Al-Iskandariya, too. They didn't have to fear the Church. The magical traditions in the Arabic countries is completely different, especially in the Middle Ages."

At that moment two boys at the Gryffindor table leapt up, drawing their wands and shouting insults at each other. Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Miss Flamel, Miss Beiond – good luck with your projects. And Miss Beiond? Please prepare a list of the books you need for your next Potions study group. I'll do what I can to help you."

**oooOooo**

"I feel really silly about this," Hermione admitted. "There's this voice inside my head that keeps mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like _'Secret treaties? Why wasn't I informed?'"_

Severus' eyes glittered and the corners of his mouth twitched. "The resident Know-It-All asserts herself?"

She smiled. "Definitely. But seriously, if those treaties are still in effect, why are they not part of the Hogwarts curriculum?"

"Precisely for that reason," Severus replied, his voice suddenly very serious. "While I agree with you that it may help Miss Beiond cope with the loss of her family, this is not an endeavour that any student may undertake without supervision. You need to consult Minerva, Binns and Irma concerning the conditions that must be met for Miss Beiond to continue with this project." A slight smile tugged at his mouth. "However, I dare say that you will find it rewarding to explore an area of magical knowledge that has so far escaped your attention."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to Leany and Aranel, who helped me thrash out the historical background for my story.

A detail I can explain at this point of the story is the witches and wizards in the royal family of Britain. I assume that Anne Boleyn was a witch and that Henry VIII. wanted her, because he assumed that a witch woud be able to provide him with a male heir. Since that time the attitude of the Muggle government towards the wizarding world has been more lenient in Britain than in other countries, up to the point where the royal family founded the development of the spells and charms that allowed witches and wizards to enjoy a pleasant tickling sensation while being burned at the stake (an effect which is history of magic HP canon).


	133. Cucurbita!

**Warning:**

Chapter contains coarse language within the limits of a "T" rating according to the guidelines of FanFiction Net.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Cucurbita!**

Alina sat cross-legged on her bed. A long piece of parchment – at least four feet, the lower end still rolled up – was spread out in front of her. On her lap the orphaned baby-jarvey lay curled up and gazed at her with adoring eyes, as she read to the little animal.

_"Cucurbita. Asine. Stulte. Puga. Fatue. Caudex. Nugator. Stolide. Frutices. Vappa ..."_

"Alina? What are you doing?" Geilis asked and inched closer, peeking at the parchment full of curiosity.

"I'm teaching Cicero. I've also prepared lists for you, Mika and Dorothy. I've done some research, and the next four weeks are critical for Cicero's development. He will pick up on any insults he hears and imprint on them. Therefore it's very important that he stays in the dorm all the time and that the only insults he gets to hear are Latin insults."

"Are you really sure that Professor Snape doesn't understand enough Latin to get angry about your new pet?"

Alina pursed her lips and sighed. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "But it's the only language I know well enough to train Cicero in. If they don't successfully imprint on one language, they go mad. So Latin it has to be. And even if Professor Snape understands the insults, I know that the other students won't understand them. So he can't claim that Cicero is a bad influence and take him away from me because of that."

Geilis didn't look convinced. "And Mika and Dorothy have agreed to help you?"

Alina grimaced. "Yes, but now I have to help them with their Potions homework for the rest of the year."

"Hmm." Geilis fished the scroll from her bed and unrolled it. "So we just read that to him? And eventually he starts repeating them?"

Alina nodded, carefully stroking the soft pelt of the tiny jarvey.

"Oh, all right. Let's see. _Ructabunde. Spurcissime. Os putidum._ Oh, I like that one." She giggled. "_Nugae! Gerrae! Fabulae! Bliteus belua es! _– No, wait. That has to be _'Blitea belua es'!_ And it's true, too. You really _are_ a silly beast, Alina."

**oooOooo**

Hermione looked tired tonight. There were dark circles under her eyes. When she didn't press her hand on her stomach, she was rubbing an itchy spot next to her nose where she'd applied Anti-Blemish Potion. On the table next to her sat a stack of history of magic books from the Restricted Section of the library. Every now and again she shook her head or huffed quietly.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm."

He almost smiled when she didn't look up, completely enthralled by her reading.

"Hermione? Did you hear me?"

"Hmm?"

"I have something for you, but if you're too tired …"

This time her reaction was instantaneous. She snatched up a bookmark, inserted it in the book she was currently engrossed in, snapped it shut, set it aside and smiled at him. He _knew_ that she loved him, but still – to see her so readily abandoning something she enjoyed, just to listen to whatever he had to say, with a smile on her face although he could see that she was not feeling well … it left him … bewildered … shaken to the core. He studied her face, the way she pressed her lips together, the way the skin tightened around her eyes. It was the coldest day of this autumn yet. Did she possibly suffer from another attack of _Cruciatus_ after-effects?

"Hermione, if you are in pain again because of the _Cruciatus_, you need to tell me. There's no reason for unnecessary suffering."

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and wouldn't look at him. Severus frowned. Was there something she was keeping from him? "Hermione?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I haven't been Head of Slytherin House all those years without learning that _'It's nothing. Don't worry.'_ are sentences that send any prudent man running for cover. Hermione. Please. Tell me what's wrong."

She proceeded to stare at the tips of her slippers in rapt concentration. "It's that time of the month, and my stomach hurts, and I'd been hoping … well …"

Her cheeks flushed and he could see that she was biting down on her lower lip again.

_She had been hoping…  
She wanted …_

A wave of nausea flowed over him. Suddenly the air around him felt icy. He shivered. Then time started again, and he knew he had to say something. _Anything._

He swallowed dryly. "There are several things I could say right now. I should say right now. Unfortunately, I can't think of any of them." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. We … we should have talked about that. I never expected you to … that you'd … _Merlin's bollocks._ Most days when I wake I'm still surprised that I wake up at all! Not to mention that I wake in a bed with _you_ beside me." He exhaled deeply. "I'm taking a potion. I'm … I'm sorry, Hermione."

To his surprise she didn't throw a tantrum. She just looked at him, eyes wide and sad, her hands pressed to her cramping midsection. Another deep breath. This wasn't that much different than comforting his little snakes. Only of course it was, and he couldn't fool himself for a minute.

"Come to me, Hermione."

Another surprise. She didn't argue. She simply came to him. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands on her stomach. He closed his eyes and silently concentrated on a healing charm. When she slumped against him with a sigh, he knew the magic was working. "Blood and semen can be used for powerful and very dark magic. I had not much say in how much of my body fluids would be spilt on any given evening. But I _could _control the potency of those substances." He didn't move his hands. Inclining his head, he briefly touched his lips to her temple. "I don't think I've truly realised yet just how much my life has changed."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The Latin insults in this chapter are mainly based on the website "Ludi Latini" of the University of Oklahoma. Please note that if you want to make up Latin insults of your own, it's not enough to simply find the correct word. You also need to use the correct grammatical case - the vocative case.

Cucurbita - pumpkin  
Asine - ass  
Stulte - idiot  
Puga - arse  
Fatue - fool  
Caudex - blockhead  
Nugator - pipsqueak  
Stolide - dummy  
Frutices - blockheads  
Vappa - scum  
Ructabunde - burper  
Spurcissime - totally filthy  
Os putidum - stinker/bad breath  
Nugae, gerrae, fabulae - nonsense, poppycock, fiddlesticks  
Blitea belua es - You are a silly beast.


	134. A Dangerous Gift

**A Dangerous Gift**

For a long time they sat in silence, watching the flames in the fireplace, while the grey light of a November dusk faded into darkness outside. At last Hermione twisted around to look at Severus. She was grateful to see that he looked pensive and peaceful, rather than annoyed or upset. "I'm sorry, too," she said. "I should have had the courage to talk to you about that. I guess that I didn't is probably a good indication that it's not the right time to think about having a family yet."

But she couldn't help feeling disappointed. He shook his head slightly, an expression of wonderment softening his stern features. He also didn't remove his hands from her midsection.

Severus exhaled deeply. "No," he said, while his hands gently rubbed her stomach. "Not yet. You're very young, Hermione. You haven't finished your apprenticeship. And I want you to go on and become a journeyman – or rather a journeywoman. You should get some working experience abroad. When you're a Potions Mistress in your own right, there will be time enough for a family. If that is what you want."

"But that's such a long time off!" She couldn't keep a certain belligerence out of her voice.

He chuckled, a rumbling sound that made her shiver involuntarily. "If you continue to excel the way you have, you may well be made a Potions Mistress as early as 2005. That would make you the youngest Potions Mistress since Perenelle Flamel's daughter. It's just a few years."

"_Hmpf._ I assume that means you're not willing to compromise on that issue?"

He withdrew his hands. "No." There was a harsh edge to his voice. "There will be no compromises where your education is concerned beyond the ones you already face. You have to be aware of how people will view your apprenticeship with me, no matter what kind of safeguards are spelled into the conditions of your indenture.  
"You _will_ become a journeywoman. You _will_ serve the full term of two years away from Hogwarts. Although I would advise you to extend that period to a double term with two different masters, I will not insist on that. However, you will not burden yourself with a baby during that time. Once you are a Potions Mistress, we can resume this conversation."

_Bastard,_ Hermione thought and couldn't help balling her fists in a spurt of anger. _He decides what's best for me. And I get no say in the matter. As if I'm a child and not his wife._ Then: _Of course he _does_ have a point. Damn him._ She chewed on her lower lip. _One thing is sure, I won't convince him that having a child is a good idea if_ I _put up a childish sulk now. However, if he thinks that I'll wait with this conversation until 2005, he's sorely mistaken._

Aloud, she sighed and forced a smile. "I won't pretend that I agree with you or that I like your decision. But I guess I'll have to accept it for the time being. Now. Didn't you say you have something for me?"

She couldn't help grinning, when a deeply suspicious look formed on his face at her reasonable response. "Look, Severus," she added. "You're right. I _am_ young. And I'm madly truly deeply in love with you, so I tend to react emotionally rather than intellectually to … well, to certain situations that involve you. But that doesn't mean that I'm not capable of comprehending valid arguments. Even if they are presented to me in an offensive manner. You know, if you really think I'm good enough to become the youngest Potions Mistress since 1375, you should give me some credit concerning my mental faculties."

"Hmm." He scowled at her. "Maybe."

Her grin broadened to a smug smile. "So?"

"If you let me get up, I'll go and get your gift."

She jumped up and watched as Severus moved to his desk. He picked up a sheaf of parchments. "These," he said, "are only copies, but I can assure you that they are valuable enough that Madam Pince would have asked for my firstborn child to ensure that they are treated with the proper respect and decorum."

"Are they … ?" Hermione trailed off, breathless, the previous conversation all but forgotten.

"These are the _Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum_, the secret treaties between the International Confederation of Wizards and the Holy Inquisition, as well as the adjunctive treaties between the ICW and the Church of England and some of the more powerful Protestant movements of the 17th century." Black eyes bored into her. "You may only read them here. And only while I am present in this room. You will not speak of what you read to anyone without my express permission. Is that clear?"

Hermione nodded, her heart thudding heavily in her breast. "Yes, sir. Absolutely. Of course. You can trust me."

Suddenly an understanding smile curved his thin lips. "As for tonight … I think I can amuse myself for another hour or two with some of the Seventh Years' essays."

**oooOooo**

"Hey, Alina."

"Hi, Crudass." Alina slumped down next to her friend and buried her face in her arms.

"What's wrong?"

She yawned into the warm darkness between her robes and the table. "Just tired. Like, really, really tired. Is it just me, or do we have to work much, much harder this term?" Wearily she raised her head and rubbed at her eyes.

Crudass shrugged. "No idea. But I could sleep all day as well. Madam Pomfrey keeps chasing after me with Pepper-Up, Calming Draught and vitamin supplements."

"I guess she's just worried about you," Alina suggested. "Because …"

"Yeah, because of my family, I know. It's still annoying. Anyway. How about you? Any luck with your projects?"

Alina grimaced. "I still need to find three bells, and I have no clue where to start looking. And Latin insults? Get old real quick. Pun intended. I wish it was Christmas already."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum - treaties for the segregation of witches


	135. Secrets Muggle and Magical

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Secrets of the Muggle and the Magical Kind**

A few days later, Hermione looked up from the copies of the treaties. For a while she stared blindly at the cheerful blaze in the fireplace of their private library.

She felt as if her world had been turned upside down.

At last she drew a shivering breath and looked over to where Severus sat at his desk, liberally adorning the essays in front of him with spiky scrawls in crimson ink.  
He must have felt her gaze, because he raised his head. His dark eyes seemed to glitter with amusement and she wondered if he was reading her mind.

"Yes?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm an idiot. A dunderhead. A dunce," she elaborated.

"Hardly. Those _are _secret treaties. There are a few – such as the extended Flamel family, or researchers at the renowned library of Alexandria," he smirked, "who are aware of the existence and significance of the _Pacta_, but today most wizards have never heard of them. And those who have, regard them as a myth."

"But they were not a secret when they were signed, right?" Hermione said, as another piece of information fell into place. "They only became a secret after the Statute of Secrecy was implemented. I bet there's a secret addendum to that Statute specifying exactly that."

Severus nodded. "Very good, Mrs. Snape."

Hermione shook her head, still dazed. "So _this_ is the real reason for the Pureblood prejudices."

"Not quite, at least not today. Grindelwald knew about the treaties. But Dumbledore himself only discovered the truth about them when he was made vice-mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Voldemort never knew about them. And trust me, Lucius' and Umbridge's nastiness is all their own. The Ministers know them, of course, since they have to keep up diplomatic relations with the Holy See.  
"However, it is true that the treaties are the historical foundation of the Pureblood agenda."

Hermione shuddered. "_Oh God._ I never thought I'd ever understand the Pureblood faction. But now I do. Historically at least. The church wanted to keep magic from spreading. And the Purebloods wanted to keep their people safe. They agreed to keep the wizarding world a secret from the Muggles, to outlaw marriage with Muggles and teaching magic to Muggle-borns, so the Inquisition would stop hunting and killing them. _Us._"

For a while she simply stared at the parchments. "But there is no law against marrying Muggles in Britain, is there? And Hogwarts has always taught Muggle-born witches and wizards, right?" She frowned. "And you said that the treaties are still in effect? How is that possible? And if they are, could the Inquisition –"

Severus held up his hand and scowled at her. "One question at a time, if you please.  
"First off, there _is_ such a law. And you've seen evidence for its existence. I believe you have taken a look at the Black family tree in Grimmauld Place?"

"_Oh._ So _that's _why they started blasting them off the tapestry." Once more Hermione felt quite stupid. "But what about Hogwarts?"

"As Miss Flamel told you – the magical community of Britain enjoys a special position due to the royal witches and wizards this country has seen throughout the centuries. But even in Britain marrying Muggles is still technically illegal, and only the magical quill enables us to find Muggle-born witches and wizards. But there is a loophole in the treaty – once a Muggle-born witch or wizard has entered the wizarding world using their innate power, they belong to us."

"The barrier at platform 9 ¾!"

He nodded with a slight smile. "Indeed. And if you look at other magical communities around the world, you should notice striking differences."

"Right. Durmstrang doesn't teach Muggle-borns _at all_. And Beauxbatons …"

"Only accepts Muggle-born students since the Holy Inquisition was renamed _'Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office' _in 1908."

Hermione frowned. "Then why are the treaties still a secret today?"

"You tell me."

Now it was Hermione's turn to scowl at her husband. She chewed on her lower lip, mulling over what she had read and what Severus had told her. "Hmm. Okay. For one thing, they are only a plain old Muggle secret. They are not magically secret. Or you couldn't have given the copies to me. Dumbledore couldn't have given the copies to you. Alyah's mother couldn't have used them in her research in Alexandria.  
"Politically … it's much better that they are a secret. Voldemort would have exploited them in order to win more supporters. Hell, – sorry – Umbridge _would_ love them!" Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I'm surprised that Fudge and Scrimgeour didn't leak anything … unless … _hmm_ … is it possible that the Minister of Magic's oath of office turns Muggle secrets into magical secrets? So they couldn't tell, even if they wanted to?  
"But that's neither here nor there …" She frowned. "You said that the Holy Inquisition was renamed. Does that mean it was merely discontinued? Not really given up? Does that mean that the treaties are merely no longer _enforced_? They are _truly_ still in effect, at least theoretically? And _theoretically_, the Inquisition could – could –"

"Theoretically the Inquisition could invoke the treaties if they were found to be broken. And since the treaties were signed by the International Confederation, all magical communities would be subject to the penalties listed in the treaties."

Hermione swallowed hard. She was suddenly very glad that she was sitting down.

For a long time, she remained silent, thinking about what she had discovered. Then something occurred to her. She looked up and realised that Severus was watching her thoughtfully. She gave him a shaky smile. "You know all that. And _still _you keep going back to Chartres cathedral. You're just as reckless and brave as Harry, do you know that?"

"I would thank you for not stooping to insults that compare my actions to that of a foolish Gryffindor."

But his mouth curled ever so slightly with the ghost of a pleased smile.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum - treaties for the segregation of witches. Thanks to EmmaD for helping me figure out the correct grammatical construction.

The content of the treaties is really quite simple. If the wizarding world is kept secret from the Muggles and if the wizards make sure that magic does not spread (by not marrying Muggles, by refraining from actively recruiting Muggle-born witches and wizards etc.), the Inquisition will cease to hunt and kill witches and wizards. If the treaties are broken, the Inquisition will resume the witch-hunts.

Oh, and just to make this perfectly clear:

This is a **fantasy fanfic story**. It's **fantasy**. It is **not** history. There are no Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum. No offence to any religion - be it Christian or Pagan - is intended.

The only historical fact in this chapter is that 1908 the Inquisition was really renamed. If you want to learn more about the Catholic Inquisition, the Catholic Encyclopedia at www DOT newadvent DOT org is a good place to start.


	136. Anything Else?

**Anything Else?**

"Anything else?" The Headmistress was about to conclude the staff meeting, when Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Yes, Poppy?"

"I need more Pepper-Up and Invigoration Draught. I don't know what's the matter this term, but the students come flocking to me in droves, complaining about fatigue and headaches."

Flitwick nodded. "I've noticed that, too. The lack of concentration in class is astounding. The wand-work of some students is truly atrocious."

Hermione was not the only one to glance at the potions master, expecting Severus to join the discussion with a scathing comment about dunderheads and dunces. Instead he just rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "My apprentice will brew a new batch of potions for the Infirmary at the earliest convenience."

"Very good." Minerva gave a thin smile. She looked tired and worn out. The worry lines around her eyes had deepened considerably since Halloween. "You know how students are at this time of the year – they can't wait for the Christmas holidays. And do you really blame them? I have to admit that this grey and dreary weather does nothing to bolster my spirits, either. So why should the students fare any better?

"Please remember that we'll have a visitor here for the weekend. Madame Dubois may require your assistance. Therefore I would appreciate it if any shopping trips to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade could be delayed."

**oooOooo**

"Hermione? A word, if you please."

"Yes, Severus?" He really looked very tired. About as tired as she was herself._ I hate November, _Hermione thought grumpily._ It makes me feel grey inside._

"Flitwick reminded me of something. It's time that you continue your wand-lessons. You should see Filius about that. Additionally I will practice with you twice a week. You have the power and the discipline to learn how to wield two wands well. But you lack the practice. You are about to enter the second half of your apprenticeship and I want you to start Charmed Potions soon."

"Charmed Potions!" Hermione almost squealed. "But that's –"

"Master-level potions making, yes." He smirked at her.

**oooOooo**

Ignoring the looks of less enlightened members of their various Houses, the Second Years among the Little Knights gathered at the top of Gryffindor table to do their homework. Experience had taught them that this was the best solution for working together. They _did_ lose more house-points for chatting and giggling, if they remained within easy view of the teacher who on duty in the Great Hall. But if they sat down at the end of one of the long tables, they had to stay constantly on guard, watching out for hexes and jinxes thrown at them for _'fraternizing with the enemy'._ Alina sighed. Not even the infamous House Cup incident on the last day of the previous term had ended the inter-house prejudices and rivalry.

Alina and Barret were finishing up an essay about bezoars, while Jo, Alyah, Cato and Prue were practicing Charms for Flitwick, using plain Muggle drumsticks to perfect their movements.

"There, that's it." Alina rolled up her parchment. "I can't believe he really asked for three feet. He's crazy."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that point." Crudass grinned at her. She stuck out her tongue, but couldn't summon the energy to go over the reasons of why her Head of House was her favourite teacher _and_ one of her favourite persons for the 1,000th time.

"Okay," she muttered instead and pulled out her notebook. "Next project. If I was a Necromantic bell, and I was hidden away at Hogwarts, where would I be?"

Barret shrugged and yawned. Alina wrinkled her nose at her friend. "Some help you are, Cruddie."

She toyed with her notebook. "Where _are _bells at Hogwarts?" she asked no one in particular.

Cato looked up. "In the bell-tower. At the doors."

"The music room," Alyah suggested.

"Probably in the kitchens," Jo said. "My uncle told me that in earlier times wizards used enchanted bells to summon house-elves."

Alina blinked, astonished. "Why didn't I ask y'all right away??"

**oooOooo**

"_Fuck,_ Harry, Auror training can't be _that _demanding!" Ginny cursed into the darkness of their bedroom at Grimmauld Place Number 12.

But her boyfriend didn't reply. With a soft snore his limp appendage slid from her body and he curled up against her side, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd fallen asleep before finishing what had promised to be a highly enjoyable evening for his girlfriend.

**oooOooo**

"Is it possible that this constant fatigue has something to do with what happened on Halloween?" Hermione asked. "No matter how long we sleep, we don't seem to be getting our energy-levels up. You gave your colleagues quite a start yesterday at the staff meeting when you failed to insult the students for being so distracted.  
"Look, I have realised by now that you don't _want_ to talk about what occurred on Halloween . But I think we _need_ to talk about it."

Still there was no reply.

"Severus. Talking about things is what makes relationships work."

"Oh?" An elegant eyebrow quirked up. "Really?" Black fire flared up in his eyes and his gaze slid slowly from her face downwards.

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't suppress a sense of satisfaction at the ease with which their intimate relationship was progressing. _If _they weren't too tired for anything. Which was far too often lately. Another reason to talk.

"Severus. Both of us still suffer from nightmares. And this fatigue is _not_ normal."

He sighed, abandoning any pretence at grading. "You are right. This fatigue may very well be connected with what happened at Halloween.

"We entered the River of Death. The very touch of its water drains life-energy from a living body." A vein flickered at his temple. "I don't think I truly realised how _hard _it is to bring someone back all the way.  
"And you had not even passed the First Gate yet," he whispered.

Suddenly Hermione felt quite nauseated. "You tried to bring Lily back, didn't you?"

**oooOooo**


	137. Beautiful

**Beautiful **

Without the crackling noises of the fire, the library would have been deathly silent. Severus stood with his back turned towards her, gazing out of the windows into the gloaming. Hermione could just make out the darkly glittering surface of the water. November was definitely one of gloomiest months of the year at Hogwarts.

"Yes."

The single word, spoken so softly, shattered the quiet more devastatingly than the explosion of a curse.

Her heartbeat seemed out of synch, when Hermione finally moved. With every beat of her heart, she took another unsteady step towards the window. She didn't speak, couldn't think of anything to say. When she was at his side, he hadn't moved at all, presenting a stony façade to her and the rest of the world, his profile set in harsh angles and bitter lines, the eyes darker than the gathering gloom outside.

With a sigh she stepped in front of him. She curled her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. At first he didn't react. Had she embraced a tree, it would have been more pliant._What would I have done if Harry had been killed,_ she mused. _If I'd had the power to bring him back?_ Hermione shuddered. She was glad that she'd never find out.

The shivering that gripped her body finally caused Severus to react to her presence. He stiffened, for a second she feared that he would push her away, retreating from her and everyone else, the way he had spent most of his life. Instead he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her tight.

"Not even Necromancy can bring someone back to life who has passed beyond the Veil of the Ninth Gate," he said at last. "The best Raisers can do is bring back a zombie or an Inferius, with the help of magical items such as the Resurrection Stone or the Philosopher's Stone or the Holy Grail. But I am not a Raiser. I am what they call a Binder. Someone who can banish and bind demons, zombies and spectres easier than others. Usually, at least. A few centuries ago the Inquisition would have paid good money for my services." He exhaled deeply. His breath stirred the curls above her ear, tickling her. But she didn't dare to move, now that he was willing to talk.

"However, it can be a long way from the First to the Veil of the Last Gate and the point of no return, especially if there is unfinished business calling you back. The currents are not as strong than, or even turning against you. The river or the road may be longer."

"The road?" Curiosity won out. She tilted her head back so she could see his face.

"I think I mentioned it once . There are two dimensions of death. The objective dimension – the River of Death – and the subjective dimension. Though I am not sure how 'objective' a dimension really is. My personal theory is that it is shaped by centuries of mythology and shared belief. Maybe there is no River in other cultures or in future times. Harry can tell you more about the subjective dimension of death than I. I only ever see the River. I think he was at a train station, wasn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "King's Cross. He never got on the train, though." She smiled weakly. "I guess he had a lot of unfinished business."

Severus' lips curved into an unhappy smirk. "I should say so."

Hermione took a step back and reached for his hands. "Let's sit down and have some tea, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow. "As long as you don't offer me a lemon sherbet."

Hermione snorted. "Not bloody likely."

A short time later they were ensconced on the big sofa in the library, a tray with tea and shortbread on the coffee table in front of them. Hermione kicked off her shoes and to Severus' discomfiture proceeded to curl up against him.

"So you found Lily before she reached the Ninth Gate?"

"Yes."

Another long silence stretched and crept off into the shadowy corners of the room, before he continued. "She may have died by choice, sacrificing her life for her son. But a child is a child, and love is one of the strongest anchors that tie souls to this plane of existence.  
All the same, I only reached her in the deep waters before the Ninth Gate."

Suddenly Severus reached for Hermione, drawing her close. "Now I think would not have been able to bring her back, even if she had allowed it." He shuddered.

Hermione realised what he did not say. She _had_ almost died on Halloween. "Wow," she said softly. "_Wow._ So that's what it will be like? Dying?" She angled her head so she could meet his eyes.

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he swallowed hard, before he asked. "What was it like?"

She couldn't reply right away. "Beautiful," she said at last. "The river was different from when I was there with Alina. The water was brown and green and _alive_, and there were green trees growing in the water at the sides, like … I suppose like a mangrove forest. In front of me there were those huge round leaves of water lilies, and behind them high stemmed lotus. There were flowers, too, water lilies and lotus flowers, brilliant like precious jewels. I was flowing with the current and I could slow down or speed up just by thinking of how fast I wanted to go. But the open water before me became narrower and narrower. Until it was a meandering path around the water lilies. I stopped and looked towards the end of the water path. Just in front of me was one of those giant water lily leaves. And beyond it was a bird surrounded by a bright light – I think it was heron." Hermione took a deep breath. "And then I woke in our bed."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The heron is meaningful in Egyptian, Ancient Greek and Christian mythology. It symbolizes, among other things the knowledge of the right time and the souls of the Chosen whose aims transcend earthly bounds. In Chines art the heron (lu) is often depicted with the lotus flower (lien) because of the similar sound of the syllables which mean "way" and "ascent" thus expressing the wish "always ascend on your way". The lotus flower is a part of the Egyptian myth of creation. Wreaths of lotus flowers were placed in tombs. In India lotus symbolises spirituality and art. Water lilies were sacred to Nymphs in Ancient Greek mythology.


	138. Those Who See

**Those Who See**

Hermione lay with her cheek pressed against Severus' chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. At last she turned to lie on her back, her head resting on his thigh, her knees angled upwards. His left hand found her stomach, gently caressing her in soothing circles.

"So what happened when you found Lily?" Hermione asked finally.

Severus leant his head against the backrest and closed his eyes.

"Bringing her back would have reversed the effect of her sacrifice. Her son would have died, while she lived.  
"Lily asked me to let her go."

"And you did."

"Yes."

His hand stopped, resting motionless on her belly. Hermione reached for him. She drew his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers. She loved the way his hands felt to her lips. The cool skin with its faint hint of spices and herbs, and underneath his own, unique, male scent and taste.

"You never told that anyone before."

"No."

Hermione sat up and turned around. His head still slumped backwards against the sofa, the shielding curtain of his shoulder-length hair had fallen backwards, exposing his face to her scrutiny. He looked weary. And sad. So incredibly sad.

For a moment she felt a stinging stab of jealousy deep in her chest because she was not the first. Followed quickly by a pang of pain at the knowledge that – while she had not been the first _he_ had ever loved – _she_ was the first to truly love him.

She reached for his hands and held them tightly.

After a few more minutes had passed, he inhaled deeply. He straightened his shoulders and opened his eyes. He met her gaze calmly. The expression on his face was oddly peaceful, as if he had laid down a heavy burden at long last.

Again she pressed her lips to his hands. "Severus Snape," she said. "You are a brave and selfless man and I am honoured to know you."

**oooOooo**

Claire Dubois was an impressive woman.

She was small and slender, almost delicate, but her powerful personality, the vibrant energy of her movements made her seem taller. She could dominate a room as easily as Severus Snape, without ever raising her slightly accented, melodic voice. She even had the same flair for swirling and twirling her black, sleeveless robes as he did. Just like Severus, she also dressed completely in black – tight Muggle-style trousers, a cashmere turtleneck, and obviously Charmed Manolo Blahnik stilettos. But around her neck she wore an extravagant Demiguise-scarf in brilliant shades of violet and purple. Her make-up reflected those colours in tastefully muted hues.

For Hermione, she was an epiphany.

She was also one of the best specialists for portrait painting in the wizarding world. Severus, Hermione and Minerva met her at the front gates of Hogwarts. She Apparated with the faintest of _PLOPs_, as if she was coming in from Hogsmeade instead of New York.

She greeted the Headmistress and Hermione with a friendly smile and French charm, kissing the air next to their cheeks as if they were old friends. Meeting Severus' scowl, her smile broadened, as she offered him her hand. "Always nice to meet a colleague."

Hermione almost snorted at the deepening glower of her husband, although she wondered what Madame Dubois referred to. Severus was not a painter, and Madame Dubois neither a potions maker nor a professor.

"So, Minerva – you're having some trouble with a portrait, I hear?"

The Headmistress nodded as they walked through the November drizzle towards the castle. "Yes. To all appearances the portrait of Albus Dumbledore has turned into an ordinary Muggle oil painting. He's not petrified or stunned. We can't find any spell residue, though by Merlin, we've tried."

"Hmm. Sounds like a challenge." The French Witch smiled, not in the least discouraged. "Have you had your Necromancer look at the painting?"

Minerva stopped dead in her tracks. "Necromancer?"

Madame Dubois raised her eyebrows. "Minerva – may I call you Minerva? What you describe sounds like a problem caused by Necromantic magic or some kind of soul-magic. I would have expected you to use all available resources before calling in outside help."

Severus appeared to freeze on the spot, while Hermione choked at the realisation of just what Madame Dubois must have referred to with calling her husband a colleague. So the art of painting wizarding portraits was actually a kind of Necromantic magic? Intriguing!

Hermione cleared her throat. "My husband's relationship with … with the subject of that particular painting is …_uh_ … a little strained due to the fact that he was the one to kill _err_… the model."

"Oh, right!" Claire Dubois said brightly. "Of course. _'Witch Vogue'_ had a feature on that. You called in Mona to do the painting, didn't you? She really does those smiles and twinkles well. But it's in her blood after all."

When she turned to Severus, her smile disappeared as if she'd flicked a switch. Instead she looked concerned, perhaps even wary. "You do realise that if this really _is_ a Necromantic problem it is entirely possible that only you – as the one who killed Albus Dumbledore – may be able to undo it?"

Severus stared down at the petite Frenchwoman. Hermione could see how the tiny vein at his temple pulsed, betraying just how shocked he was. How he managed to keep his voice all smooth and silky under the circumstances was really beyond her.

"Now I do," Severus Snape said.

**oooOooo**

In the office of the Headmistress, Madame Dubois walked right up to the painting. Different from others, she didn't flinch before Dumbledore's immobility. She simply hummed under her breath and drew her wand, flicking it in silence along the frame and over the canvas.

When Claire Dubois spoke at last, her voice was very serious. "_'There are three classes of people,' _Leonardo said._ 'Those who see, those who see when they are shown, those who do not see._' – I don't think I've ever seen something like that before."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** "Mona" is of course a descendant of none other than the painter and wizard Leonardo da Vinci, who is also quoted in the last paragraph of this chapter.

Many thanks to Septentrion for helping me to visualize Madame Claire Dubois.


	139. Cullen Skink and Portrait–Kinks

**Cullen Skink and Portrait-Kinks**

"And to which class do you belong, Madame?" Snape asked. He was standing as far away from the painting as possible, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Claire Dubois glanced at the potions master. An amused smile curled up the corners of her wide mouth. "Oh, all three I suppose," she said with equanimity. "At one time or another. But right now the fact that I qualify for the first class and _you_ for the second is very fortunate. If we want to solve this riddle."

**oooOooo**

The private dining-room of the Headmistress was a pleasant chamber, with its muted colours of crème and red and its high windows. A huge painting of red poppies was displayed above the mantelpiece. At first Hermione thought it was the Muggle painting she knew, but then a soft breeze stirred the field of flowers and the two walkers turned around, making their way back towards the distant mansion.

After the soup (something called _'Cullen Skink'_, a traditional Scottish recipe, as Minerva informed her guests), Madame Dubois took a sip of chilled Chardonnay and sighed appreciatively.

"Very well. As you are no doubt aware, portrait-magic is soul-magic," Dubois began her lecture. "That much is widely known. The technical details, however, are another matter. Portrait-magic is closely connected to Necromancy. Nothing as dire as the creation of Inferi or Horcruxes, of course," Hermione couldn't help noticing a wicked gleam in the woman's grey eyes at the way both Minerva and Severus jumped at the term, and she wondered just how much Claire Dubois knew about the war against Voldemort. "– but no matter how much some of the Guild would like to deny it, it's Necromantic magic all the same.  
"Portraits are echoes of souls that have passed beyond the Veil of the Ninth Gate. As long as the souls of the deceased stay near the Veil, the portrait will capture their echoes, they will move and talk. Eventually, when there are no ties left between them and this world, they will begin to drift away from the Veil and go on. To Nirvana, Heaven or Hell, Krypton or wherever their destiny may lead them. When that happens, portraits stop moving, much like Dumbledore's."

Minerva frowned. "Is that possible where this particular portrait is concerned? It may sound selfish, but I would like to think there are still ties between Albus and several living persons."

Claire Dubois nodded. "This particular paralysis is definitely _not _a natural occurrence. As a matter of fact, I doubt you will encounter any natural fading here. Your portraits depict people connected with this school – teachers, headmasters, former students. All of them have strong ties to Hogwarts and its inhabitants. They will probably stay close enough for as long as Hogwarts exists. Fading portraits are a phenomenon of museums or of old houses whose families have died out."

The portrait mistress idly toyed with her glass. "There are basically two ways of interfering with the magic of wizarding portraits: either with a manipulation on this side of the Veil or on the other."

Hermione gasped. "But that's –"

"Not possible?" Dubois delicately raised her eyebrows. "Many things in history have been called impossible: creating the Philosopher's Stone, the existence of the Deathly Hallows, the return of Lord Voldemort …  
"However, I _will_ admit that the second option is by far the less likely. Therefore my first tests tomorrow morning will be aimed at the first option. I will determine if there has been any manipulation of canvas, frame or paint, either by accident or intent, via potion, charm or Muggle technique. I should have conclusive results as soon as tomorrow evening."

**oooOooo**

"Hermione, I'm tired, too," Severus said with a hoarse voice.

Somehow she managed to look up, surprised that he would ever admit to something as mundane as fatigue, especially in what was essentially a classroom-setting.

"But you need to concentrate better than that," he ordered her. "The skill and the power necessary to wield two wands are indisputable. I know you have both. _Dammit,_ Hermione. You have to do better than that! You _can_ do better than that!"

He gestured to the exploded pillow in front of them. A last feather was floating towards the ground. Hermione felt as if her head was about to burst apart. The headache was pounding in her temples and she felt slightly nauseated.

When she raised her wands, her hands were trembling.

"Fuck," she burst out. "I don't know what's wrong with me!"

She put her left wand – yew with sphinx feather – aside. Concentrating, she silently cast her spell and flicked her right wand – vine with dragon heartstring at one of the remaining pillows. Obediently, the pillow rose into the air, where it floated serenely, approximately three feet above the floor.

Hermione lowered the cushion again. She laid the wand on the table, and picked up the left wand. She narrowed her eyes and bit down on her lip. _"Wingardium Leviosa,"_ she thought, frowning with intense concentration.

With a jerk, the pillow shot up into the air. It came to a halt at a higher level than before and kept shuddering awkwardly.

"You used your right hand," Severus commented dryly.

Hermione blinked. "I did. _Damn. _I'm sorry. I'm just so weary, and my head is hurting."

Severus didn't seem to hear her. "Lower that cushion and switch to your left hand."

She sighed, but obeyed. It was so embarrassing to be taken through the basic exercises of wielding two wands again at this point in her studies. She'd assumed she was beyond that by now. Right hand and right wand first. Right hand and left wand second. Left hand and left wand next. Both hands and both wands after that … When she moved her hand, she was painfully aware of how much less refined her flick and swish was with her left. But worse – her magic didn't seem to react the way it was supposed to.

The pillow twitched.  
That was all.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** The "kinks" of portrait-lore mentioned in this chapter are not canon, but only the figments of my own imagination. I hope they make sense.

"Cullen Skink" is a fish soup which may (at least my research indicates that) be served at the beginning of a formal Scottish dinner.


	140. The Colour of Magic

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**The Colour of Magic**

Severus frowned. The vertical line between his eyebrows deepened and his hand went up to massage the bridge of his nose.

Then, without a word, he produced his wands: Yew with dragon heartstring for his right, birch with sphinx feather for his left hand. A silent gesture with his right hand and the yew wand. The pillow floated perfectly positioned. Another flick, birch this time. Again, the pillow hovered peacefully, three feet above the floor.

Birch in his left, a silent gesture, as graceful with the left hand as with the right –  
a jerk, a lurch, a soundless explosion.

Hermione sneezed violently, several times in a row. When she blinked away her tears, the storm of feathers around them had subsided, and Severus was staring at her in shock.

_"Shite,"_ she cursed and sniffed noisily. "What _was_ that?"

"Unfortunately I have an idea concerning that," Severus said softly. "Would you roll up your left sleeve, please?"

Hermione frowned, but followed his request. She slipped out of her apprentice robe and her dark green sweater, unbuttoned the left cuff of the white blouse she wore underneath and drew back the fabric.

"A bit higher," Severus demanded. "Yes. Like that."

For a moment he stared at the black ink of the Elhaz rune with revulsion. Then he placed the tip of his yew wand against it.

_"Vim Magicam Revelio,"_ he whispered.

Immediately shimmering light flared up. Severus withdrew his wand. The wavering shine of magical power poured from the tattoo. Close to her skin the colour pulsed with a rich, deep amber hue. In the air above her arm, the colour faded into a sickly greenish tinge.

"What is that?" Hermione asked, twisting her head around so she could get a closer look.

"The spell is a variation of the basic revealing spell, _'revelio'_, cast to reveal magical power," Severus replied, shrugging out of his robe. His fingers were already halfway down the buttons of his frock coat, before Hermione was able to react.

"You want me to cast the spell on you?"

Severus tossed his coat over a chair and proceeded to roll up his sleeve. "Yes. Just press the tip of your wand to my skin and speak the words clearly."

"Okay." Hermione swallowed hard. Trying to ignore the flickering light that was still attached to her left arm, she used her right wand in her right hand to touch the small black mark on Severus' arm.

_"Vim Magicam Revelio,"_ she said slowly, taking care to pronounce each syllable correctly.

A rush of fire seared up towards her. Hermione jumped back, almost dropping her wand in the process. Blue and sapphire hues coalesced around his arm, fading into a blue haze tinged with sickly green about a foot away from the mark.

When nothing else happened, she exhaled in sigh. "That's beautiful," she whispered. She looked up at him in awe. "Is that – the colour near the skin – is that the _colour_ of our magic?"

He nodded. "Show me your arm again."

Severus narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the golden and blue colours dancing over their skin and the unhealthy green hue that permeated them.

"Why is it visible only at that spot?" Hermione asked. "And what are those greenish stains?"

"You're a trained witch. You're in control of your magic. Unless you use it, it resides within you, contained safely inside your body.  
"If you cast that spell on a First Year in September, he'll glow like a glowworm. By Christmas there are usually just a few undisciplined Gryffindors left who are still leaking magic like that." He smirked. But the snide joke did not affect the haunted expression in his eyes. "You know that green is the colour of dark magic – the flash of the Killing Curse, the glow of Morsmordre."

Severus' eyes bored into her, dark and fearsome. "This colourful display means that something or someone is draining our magic through those damn tattoos."

He snatched up his wand. _"Finite Incantatem,"_ he muttered and waved his wand over their arms. The fiery colours vanished.

**oooOooo**

"Severus, Hermione – do come in. Madame Dubois just finished her first battery of tests."

Today the French witch wore a blue painter's smock over her black outfit. Her short blond hair was kept out of her face with a blue Alice band. Her wand, made of slim, pale wood, was haphazardly tucked into the ribbon above her right ear. She looked smaller than yesterday, worn-out and worried.

When they were seated, Hermione had to force herself to keep her right hand from moving to her left arm. But Severus' scowl, along with his posture, the way he kept his body almost preternaturally still, prevented her from fidgeting.

"By now I've ran an exhaustive array of tests, both mundane and magical," Dubois said, pointing at a table set up in front of Dumbledore's portrait that was laden with bottles, brushes and scrapers, and a number of tools that Hermione had never seen before. "While I still don't know the origin of the paralysis, I can tell you what does _not _cause it at any rate."

The portrait mistress inhaled deeply. "This portrait – its canvas, paint or frame – has not been tampered with by Muggle or magical means.  
_"On this side of the Veil."_

Hermione gasped. Minerva McGonagall put down her cup of tea with clank. She was suddenly very pale. Severus didn't move or make any sound at all, but the lines in his face appeared to grow harsher.

"If we leave the discussion of just how preposterous that notion is aside for the moment," he said softly, "what kind of spell would cause such a paralysis? And for what purpose would such a spell be used? Of course I may be wrong, but even to me it seems just a little disproportionate to pass beyond the Veil just to remove the damn twinkle from that portrait."

Dubois smiled faintly. "That _would_ be a bit extreme, even for a former Death Eater."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** "Vim Magicam" means "magical power"; "revelio" is part of a canon spell. The motif of magic showing up as a colourful aura is probably as old as time; I can't count the books and stories in which I've seen this idea used.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	141. We Need a Strategy

**"We Need a Strategy"**

After three spells and three brilliant displays of magical illumination (amber, sapphire and to Harry's intense discomfiture, emerald green), a deathly hush fell over the Order meeting.

"Merlin's bollocks," Ron blurted out at last, staring at the naked arms of Hermione, Harry and Severus.

"Much as it pains me to admit that, Mr. Weasley," Snape said softly and quickly rolled down his sleeve until it covered the scars on the inside of his left fore-arm, "but your assessment sums up the situation quite nicely."

"Holy shit," Harry muttered and rubbed fiercely at his arm. "So I'm going to be a Squib?"

"No," Ginny said. "It's much worse." She drew a stack of parchments from her satchel and slammed them on the table. "I've been working with Rita Skeeter for the last six weeks." At Harry's groan she shook her head impatiently. "Skeeter may be the nastiest bug to ever crawl over the surface of this planet, but even you have to admit that she smells a story ten miles against the wind. "Anyway, she put me on a project of my own. Nothing fancy. Just a nice little sob story to get me started. Only now I don't think it's a little at all. And it's everything but nice." Ginny looked haunted. "I've got three cases of Muggle-born witches who died giving birth since the Muggle-borns Protection Act was implemented. Seven still-births. And 15 miscarriages recorded at St. Mungo's."

"Oh dear," Minerva whispered. "Oh dear … and I have no experience with such spells at all."

Snape snorted. "Of course not. Leech spells belong to the Dark Arts, along with Necromancy and similar delightful endeavours."

" If you have you something constructive to contribute, Severus, feel free."

"I suggest to research cases of magical depletion. Complete magical depletion is very rare. Does it always lead to death? Or do some victims survive as Squibs? The records of St. Mungo's date back to the 16th century. The Hôtel-Magie de Paris has archives that go back to the Roman occupation," Snape replied coolly. "Additionally we need to contact experts on Spell Damage, in order to find out how quickly the spell is working, if and how the process can be affected."

"Can we cut the tattoos off?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Like you did with –" She gestured at Severus' arm. "Would that stop the spell?"

Severus shook his head. "No. While it is not the same spell as the one for the Dark Mark, it is similar. Had I attempted to remove the Dark Mark while Voldemort was still alive, I would have died instantly." He looked at the white fabric that hid the scars the laser-treatment had left on his skin. "A terrible temptation," he added softly and lowered his head. His shoulder-length hair fell forwards like a curtain, obscuring his expression. Hermione suspected from the tone of his voice that he had known someone who had given in to that temptation, and that Severus had envied that person for their easy escape.

"We need to catch whoever is behind this. Either to make them break the spell, or to discover how we can break it," Harry said. "And we need to get them _now_, before more people die." His eyes glowed with a hard light. "Is it only me, or do you suspect that someone at the Ministry is involved?"

"Umbridge," Hermione suggested. "I bet she's involved."

"Such a spell would certainly suit her agenda," Severus said softly. "Her hatred of Muggles, Muggle-borns and Half-bloods is well documented."

Harry glanced at the faded scars on his right hand. "She's definitely evil enough to come up with something like that. So what do we do about it? Inform the Minister and bust her arse?"

Andromeda shook her head. "The Minister has to be informed, of course. But I don't think we should move in on Umbridge right away. While we'd have the element of surprise on our side, this won't help us if our assessment is correct that Umbridge is working with – or for – someone else – if she is involved at all."

"We need a strategy," Ron announced.

"Could we simply grab her, pour a pint of Veritaserum down her throat and find out what she knows?" Ginny asked.

"But that's illegal!" Hermione protested.

"If we can save lives that way," Harry shouted, his eyes flashing with determination, "we'll do it."

Ron frowned and Hermione was shaking her head, but it was Severus who interrupted, "Mr. Weasley – my wife insists that you're a superb strategist. Why don't you dazzle us with your talents?"

Ron glared at Snape. But then he wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. "Sorry, Gin, Harry. But that's not a good idea. Not because it's illegal." He ducked his head at Hermione's scowl and went on doggedly, "Look, when you come up with a strategy, you need to plan for the _worst _case scenario.

"I mean, obviously the _best_ case scenario is that we catch Umbridge, force-feed her Veritaserum and she spills her guts, admits she dunnit, and includes the appropriate counter-spell.  
"But what if she had nothing to do with it? Or if she's on an antidote? Or if she's using _oh,_ say an Unbreakable Vow to make sure that her secrets _stay _secret? And if she is involved but works with accomplices, or if _she _is actually the accomplice of the _real_ culprits, your idea might make matters much worse … Right now we have no idea how that spell works. It looks like it's gradually draining your magic. But that doesn't mean it can't be adapted to drain and kill you instantly. If it's Umbridge, she could have devised a trigger-word to cause that effect. You start questioning her, she starts answering and the next thing you know, you're dead. Or what if taking down Umbridge makes her accomplies disappear – along with the only counter-spell there is?"

Harry blinked at Ron. "Mate, I guess there's a reason why you're so much better at chess than I am."

**oooOooo**


	142. Are You Scared?

**Are You Scared?**

Hermione stared into the silent mirror. Thank Merlin for that. The fascination of talking mirrors had worn off in her first year. Since then she appreciated quiet, when she looked at herself in a mirror. She scowled at her reflection. _You look like shit, Granger,_ she thought. Her face appeared almost as sallow as her husband's. Dark smudges bruised her eyes and the wild tumble of her curls accentuated cheekbones, jaws and chin to the point of gauntness. She knew that she'd lost weight since Halloween.

_And I feel like shit, too._ She tried not to look at her left arm in the mirror, but of course that was exactly where her gaze strayed to, time and again, with every other move of the brush. She shuddered, put her toothbrush away and quickly rinsed her mouth.

When she entered the bedroom, Severus lay on his back, his eyes closed. Hermione slid underneath the covers.

"Hold me," she ordered fiercely.

He didn't open his eyes but turned on his side and pulled her against his body all the same. "Bossy, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said and moved ever closer to him, pressing her body as close to him as she could manage. He was terribly thin, but very strong all the same. Heavy cauldrons and constant pacing was apparently enough to keep him fit. "Absolutely."

She buried her head against his chest, inhaling his scent and warming her cold cheeks and nose. He opened his eyes. They were so dark that she could see no difference between iris and pupils.

"Are we going to die?"

"Eventually," he replied calmly.

"Are you –" She swallowed hard. "Are you scared?"

"Of death?"

She nodded. He gazed at her, with that strange intense look he reserved only for her. His eyes glinted with strange sparks. _Love? Is that how love looks at you?_

"Are you?" he asked, his voice very soft.

That was a reaction she hadn't expected. She considered the question, her thoughts going back to Halloween and her experience of the River of Death. "Yes and no," she whispered at last. "I don't know…"

For a while they lay in silence, facing each other. Too many thoughts and feelings constricted her throat. "I don't want to die," she choked out at last. "Not now. I want to live. With you. I want to become a Potions Mistress. I want to be pregnant with your child. I want to see you hold our baby. I want to go to Harry's wedding. And to Ron's. And to Alina's one day."

She didn't manage to blink her tears away. _Fuck,_ she thought. _Oh fuck._

Wordlessly, he raised a black eyebrow. Hermione frowned, torn between exasperation and sudden, inexplicable need. _Could he read her mind just like that? _Would_ he?_

His hand found her face. Fingertips trailed her cheek. "Unless you have a better idea, of course," Severus murmured, his voice gentle.

**oooOooo**

"This is it?" asked Hermione and stared at the ultra-modern cubes of the building in front of her. Golden letters attached to the grey front of glass and steel answered her question. This was indeed the _"Koninklijke Bibliotheek"_, the national library of the Netherlands in The Hague.

Anne Flamel nodded. "There's a separate entry to the wizarding levels. Just around the corner."

It looked like a fire-exit. For Muggles it probably _was_ a fire-exit. But anyone who carried a wand would see a large sign next to the unassuming door, giving the opening hours of the library as well as instructions for how to spell the door open.

Inside they found themselves in a brightly lit staircase of white marble. Not quite as modern as the Muggle building outside, but a far cry from the Victorian monstrosity of the British Ministry of Magic and the magical part of the British Library.

"So why are those manuscripts here and not in Paris?" Hermione inquired as she followed Anne down the stairs.

"Only the female line of the Flamels stayed in Paris – the Perrier and the Dubois families. Currently Perenelle Perrier holds sway over that part of the family. She's a top-researcher for Chanel – the wizarding branch of the company, of course. The male line of the Flamels moved to the Netherlands where they established themselves as merchants in the Hanseatic League, trading potions ingredients, herbs and alchemical substances. My grandfather's still in the business. But my father and my mother are herbologists. _'Flamel's Florets & Fungi'_. Anne glanced at Hermione with a wry grin. "A less than perfect alliteration, I know. But even if I do say so myself, we're one of the best nurseries for magical and medicinal herbs in Europe.  
"Anyway – the manuscripts of Uncle Nicolas are heirlooms of the male line. But during the last three hundred years no member of the Flamel family had any scholarly interest in Potions or Alchemy, so the manuscripts were loaned to the library. No use in having them moulder around in our cellars if they can be useful for the research of scholars, right?"

Hermione nodded with an appreciative smile.

**oooOooo**

"Here's the passage I wanted," Madame Dubois said. "It's a postscript of a treatise of the Deathly Hallows. – Nicolas Flamel researched items similar to the Philosopher's Stone, such as the Holy Grail, Horcruxes and the Resurrection Stone quite extensively.  
"It's in Latin, so I'll give you a quick translation:

_'The inability of Necromancers to pass beyond the Veil and back is widely undisputed. This argument is based on the fact that the origin of both the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone can be located on _this side_ of the Ninth Gate. However, most chroniclers overlook the significance of the Invisibility Cloak. Different from ordinary invisibility fabrics, the cloak of Ignotus Peverell does not consist of Demiguise hair. Instead my tests have revealed that it is not made of any earthly fabric. It is made of what I can only assume is the very fabric that makes up_ _the Veil_ from the other side …'"

**oooOooo**


	143. The Soul of a Dead Wizard

**The Soul of a Dead Wizard**

"What in Circe's name is that?" Draco complained when a huge stack of parchments deposited itself on his desk.

Umbridge's secretary, a vapid witch with dyed blond curls called Janice followed the papers into Draco's office. Now she looked at him with an uncertain expression on her face.

"I'm not really sure, sir," Janice admitted and flashed him a toothy smile. Her perfume was too sweet, heavy with jarvey musk. Draco wondered how strong the concentration of musk had to be for Janice to start blathering insults. Though that just _might_ raise the average semantic content of her comments to the level of a talking weasel, Draco mused uncharitably.

Janice inched a bit closer, fluttered eyelashes cloyed with mascara and lowered her voice. "It's those Muggles, sir. That delegation that Mrs. Umbridge is supposed to meet on Thursday." She bent down in attempt to display her cleavage to her best advantage. Her breasts were pear-shaped and plump just like the rest of her. If she wasn't as dumb as a doornail and always dressed in pink, Draco might have been tempted. As it was, he merely tried to hold his breath long enough to escape the choking cloud of her expensive perfume. "I don't know about you," she whispered. "But I think that Muggles in robes are plain creepy."

A knock at the door frame made her draw back, and Draco immediately breathed easier.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

"Uhh… I'll go then, Mr. Malfoy. See you tomorrow. Good evening, Mr. Weasley." Janice hurried away.

"Why's she so scared of you?" Draco asked. "You're just a –"

"A stickler for the rules?" Percy raised an eyebrow and let his hands drift over imaginary curves.

"She did?"

"Trust me, Draco, you _don't _want to touch her."

"I didn't to start with. Thanks for the warning all the same. I'm very content with the arrangement that Hannah and I have. – But ... Percy, can you tell me anything about this mess?" He indicated the heaps of parchment on his desk.

"As a matter of fact, I can," Percy said. He leant back against the door frame and crossed his arms in front of his chest, mimicking Snape's best lecturing stance. "It's a delegation from the Catholic Church – the main Muggle Church. Shacklebolt delegated the duty of dealing with them to your boss. With the _best _intentions, I'm sure. As all of us know how much she enjoys dealing with Muggles."

"So what do they want?"

Percy shrugged. "Some kind of good-will event. About a series of popular Muggle books that feature a boy who grows up to be a wizard and a hero. They seem to think that if they show themselves with witches and wizards in public, they'll win over parts of the mixed-blood community."

Draco smirked. "Umbridge's going to love that." After a pause, he went on, "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

December 6, 2000 was the day of the Ministry's annual chess competition. And Percy Weasley would play against Dolores Umbridge. Percy stiffened. His expression – if that was at all possible – turned even more stuffier. Or expressionless. Draco frowned. Something about Percy reminded him uncannily of his former Head of House, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Yes," Percy said. "You should be good to go for at least one hour. Actually, I think Ron would skin me alive if I didn't last that long."

"Great."

**oooOooo**

Hermione was completely focused on Madame Dubois. The French witch stood bent over the desk, the manuscript resting between her palms. The edge of her shimmering Demiguise scarf just brushed the yellowed pages.

_So Dumbledore's and Severus' assumptions were not correct? Necromancers could pass beyond the Veil and return?  
But why would they do that just to immobilize a portrait?_

"Why would anyone do that just to paralyse a portrait?" she asked.

Claire Dubois looked up and stepped away from the manuscript. "No one would do that," she said with absolute certainty. "It's much too dangerous."

"Then why would anyone pass beyond the Veil to … do whatever they did to the soul of Albus Dumbledore?"

Madame Dubois frowned suddenly. "Is there anything you're not telling me, Mrs. Snape?"

Instinctively, Hermione looked first at Severus, then at Minerva. The Headmistress nodded to her. Her husband scowled darkly. Hermione inhaled deeply, shrugged out of her robe and rolled up her left sleeve. Madame Dubois raised her eyebrows and took a step towards Hermione. "May I?" she asked politely, extending her hand towards Hermione's arm.

Hermione nodded. "Sure."

The woman's fingers were gentle, careful. Nevertheless the delicate touches caused Hermione's skin to ripple with goose bumps.

"The spell you want," Severus said smoothly, "is _'Vim Magicam Revelio'._"

**oooOooo**

Dubois forked her fingers through her hair until it stood on end very much like Madam Hooch's preferred hair-style. "Why would anyone want to fudge with the soul of someone who has passed beyond the Veil?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know! I can think of a number of reasons. _Revenge._ As long as the soul is near the Veil, you can probably still cause it pain. Or …" She toyed with the end of her scarf. "It might be due to an entirely different spell altogether."

"What kind of spell?" Severus asked softly.

Madame Dubois stared at Snape for several seconds without a word. Then she shook her head wearily. "I just don't know! We have almost no evidence for Necromancers venturing beyond the Veil and back to begin with. The legend of the Deathly Hallows is pretty much all I've got to work with." She sighed. "But if you'd ask me to make a ... well, it _is_ quite a daring leap of intuition ... But after all I've read about what Nicloas Flamel wrote about Horcruxes … _hmm_ … Let's just say: if _I_ wanted a really _safe_ location for something like a horcrux … _or_ immense amounts of magical power … I just _might_ think of the soul of a dead wizard."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to Aranel who was my sounding board for this chapter.


	144. Mirror, Mirror Upon the Wall …

**Mirror, Mirror Upon the Wall …  
(Who is the Most Powerful Wizard of All?)**

Minerva looked as shocked as Hermione felt, although she was better at playing it down. Severus appeared unmoved, while Bill Weasley's expression was clearly concerned.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Dubois elaborated. "You have asked for my help concerning the paralysis of the portrait of one of the most powerful wizards of the 20th century. I have discovered that the problem was caused by Necromantic magic, probably executed on the other side of the Veil – an almost impossible feat of magic.  
"At the same time _you_ find out that someone has manipulated the protective magical tattoos and is draining the magical energy from all Muggle-borns and Half-bloods in Britain.  
"That kind of energy has to go _somewhere_. It's too much energy to be used up right away, even if the draining is a very slow, gradual process. Even if you wanted to create a whole _army_ of Inferi, you wouldn't need that much power! In other words, your leech needs to store magical energy somewhere safe that could blow up a whole continent.  
"Of course, _'somewhere safe'_ is tricky where magic is concerned. It doesn't work like Muggle electricity. You can't simply put it into a battery and shelve it."

"You'd want to keep it where spill-over can't do any harm," Bill said, taking up Dubois's train of thought. "Somewhere, where you think that no one can get at it."

"Beyond the Veil!" Hermione gasped. "Only Necromancers can do magic in Death. And before I heard of the Deathly Hallows, I thought no one could go there – and back. To be honest, I still believed that until approximately twenty minutes ago."

"Severus?" Minerva asked. "What do you think?"

Severus' eyes were fixed on the still figure of Dumbledore's portrait. His fathomless black gaze didn't betray any emotion. Only a slender finger that kept tracing his mouth showed how deep in thought he was.

When he spoke at last, his words were soft and carefully considered. He did not meet Hermione's eyes. "I am still not completely convinced that it _is_ possible to go beyond the Veil and back. – I have been close to the Ninth Gate only once in my life and I barely had the strength to return.  
"However, I don't believe in coincidence either."

"So you will attempt this, Professor Snape?" Dubois asked.

Hermione's throat was so tight that she could barely breathe. She knew what he would say and she desperately wanted to protest, to shout, to scream, _"No, no, no!" _Instead she only stared at Severus as he slowly nodded his head.

"Yes. Unless you think that you are better qualified?" he sneered.

Dubois ignored the sarcasm. "I am not powerful enough," she stated simply, with a shrug and a smile. "As a portrait mistress I travel a lot," she went on. "You'd be surprised at how often your name comes up in dinner conversations around the world, Professor Snape."  
His scowl didn't seem to intimidate her at all. "You must be aware that in some circles the game of _'Who is the most powerful wizard in the world?'_ never gets old. For many years the answer was simple – and caused hours of awful arguments: Voldemort or Dumbledore, Dumbledore or Voldemort." Dubois ignored Severus' grimace. "Of course the answers have changed of late," she continued. "I must admit that it is quite amusing how miffed certain American and French wizards are that once again the names that come up most often belong to two British wizards."

"If you have a point to make, then get to it, Madame," Severus ground out.

Dubois merely smiled. "Two, actually. Those names are: Harry Potter.  
"And Severus Snape."

"Any other names?" Severus asked, as if the names Dubois mentioned were of no more consequence than a remark about rainy weather in the Highlands.

The blond witch sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, no. A few, of course: Peter Jackson, Steve Jobs, the American president. But none of them are Necromancers, and I don't believe any of them are powerful enough to cast a spell with the scope of what you are dealing with here."

**oooOooo**

"Welcome to the annual Chess Tournament at the Ministry of Magic!" Shacklebolt intoned. "Players, please take your seats and raise your wands!"

Percy took a deep breath and raised his wand to salute his boss. Umbridge's smile was sweet enough to make his teeth ache. She twirled her wand in her pudgy fingers and returned the traditional greeting.

"Let the games begin!" Shacklebolt called and the audience went wild, clapping and cheering.

As the crowd quieted, Percy caught how Umbridge looked at the minister out of the corner of his eye. She smirked at the Shacklebolt and the Minister's affable expression froze on his face.

Then she lowered her pink wand to the chess-board.

**oooOooo**

"Damn." Draco yawned and scowled at the sleeping kittens that adorned the walls of his superior's office.

The spell that had sent the porcelain spies with their fluffy hair and pretty pink bows to sleep was an incredibly complex charm, with just a touch of transfiguration mixed in. In essence, it caused the essence of magic to thicken, it slowed down the very atoms of the decorative plates and dragged the inhabitants of the room's ornaments down into the heavy laziness of solid matter. Unfortunately it also had a similar effect on the caster of the spell.

He gulped a vial of Invigoration Draught. When he felt certain that there was no more steam issuing from his ears and he felt sufficiently awake and alert, he began to search Umbridge's office.

Methodically, systematically.

**oooOooo**

Ron had guessed that Umbridge wouldn't be a brilliant chess player, but that she'd be devious and vicious in her moves.

Fifteen minutes into the game, Percy knew that his little brother had been right on spot, and he was worried. Between one move and the next, he couldn't tell whether he should be scared because he would win too quickly, or because she would win too soon.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the fairy tale of Snow White and the seven dwarfs as collected by the Brothers Grimm. 


	145. Check and Mate

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Check and Mate**

Percy watched how another of his pawns crumpled next to the board. He stared at it with a strange pang of sympathy. Just a little pawn in a game that went on way above his head.

When he took another look at the small black figure, his stomach twisted and he almost gulped audibly. That pawn would never play another game. Percy inhaled deeply and observed Umbridge as she made her next move.

**oooOooo**

"Damn, damn, damn," Draco cursed under his breath, thinking of the few times he'd heard his Head of House utter the threefold damnation to great effect in that smooth voice of his.

He'd been over everything twice. He'd cast every _fucking_ spell of revelation and discovery he knew. The advanced, even dark spells that Severus had taught in preparation of this very night, down to different version of '_revelio'_ and even the lowly _'Alohomora'._

Nothing.

_Bloody hell._ He'd have bet his left leg that Umbridge was involved in this mess. But there was nothing, really nothing out of the ordinary in the office. For the third time he passed around her desk, scowling at the stack of papers detailing the visit of the delegation from the Church.

_"Dear Madam,_

_Thank you for the friendly reception. We are looking forward to seeing you again and to entering a constructive cooperation ..."_

Draco shook his head. He couldn't for the life of him imagine that any Muggle delegation would have enjoyed a 'friendly reception' in Umbridge's office. At least not while she was present.

He scowled at the pink wand holder that was attached to the desk and the charming and cleaning implements that were meticulously stashed beneath it. The thought of what she was doing to her wand made him shudder. To obscure the essential symbol of one's magic … and with a lurid, candy-floss pink to boot … it was simply wrong.

**oooOooo**

Percy's eyes were virtually glued to the board now. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the growing heap of unmoving figures on the one side, the cowering anxiousness on the other, did nothing to support his equilibrium.

He didn't have his little brother's experience, but he was fairly sure that within five to ten moves, everything would be over, this way or that. Where in Merlin's and Nimue's name was Draco? Percy knew that it didn't really matter if he won or lost this game – he would only fail if he hadn't given Draco enough time to search Umbridge's office.

_Draco,_ he thought frantically, _what in the Hallows are you doing up there?_

**oooOooo**

That was incidentally the question that Draco was asking himself at this point.

_I'm a loser,_ Draco thought. _I have more than an hour to search a room, and all I find is a letter from those Muggles in robes – which is sitting right in the middle of the bloody desk, the just as openly displayed notes for pink-charming a wand …_

_… and that fucking fish._

Draco had always disliked magical creatures. But his aversion had reached new heights since Umbridge had acquired an aquarium to adorn her office. Now the fish tank occupied a large section of the shelf next to her desk. And of course she didn't just keep any kind of ordinary fish, like a goldfish or a rainbow-fish. _No:_ Umbridge kept a full-grown Lobalug in her office. It was poisonous (deadly, in fact; the 'XXX' MoM rating was due only to the exceptional value of Lobalug poison for potions-exports into Asia and the Americas and due to diplomatic difficulties concerning the use of Lobalug poison by the Merpeople) and uglier than a Blast-Ended Skrewt. It stayed mainly inside what looked like a miniature gate made of strange, gleaming black stone. At the moment only its long, rubbery spout was visible. The rest of the animal was hidden inside its 'castle'. It looked almost like a fishy guard dog, the way it was lurked inside its murky abode.

Another round of the room.

Still nothing.

_Damn. There has to be something here! Probably right in front of my eyes. Only I'm too stupid to see it._

**oooOooo**

Percy was staring at the doors at the end of the hall, pretending to be deep in thought regarding his next move. That was a ruse. There were two options for the next move, and they were quite simple. One option would have him defeated within seven moves, the other would make him win in three. _He'd personally prefer the second option, but where in Merlin's name was Draco?_

As if the man in question had heard his thoughts, the doors opened, and a slim, blond figure slipped into the hall, keeping to the back.

_Draco. At last._

Percy almost moaned with relief. He turned his attention back to the board.

A short time later, he smiled at his boss.

"Madam, I'm very sorry. But I am afraid that I have no choice … _Check._"

"To yield to such a charming young man is no sacrifice," Umbridge simpered. But her fingers curled so tightly around her wand that her knuckles stood out. Strangely enough, when she prodded her last figure to remove itself from the board, it was the first that didn't drop dead next to the board.

"In that case," Percy's smile tightened, "there's only one thing left for me to do, Madam:_mate._"

"Bravo," Umbridge applauded, but to Percy it seemed that her smiling façade was cracking at the corners.

**oooOooo**

An hour after the tournament, Shacklebolt was walking down the hallway. His steps created an insecure, irregular echo of his customary forceful stride.

In his mind he heard Minerva's voice. _"The spell is draining their magic … all of them will die … already ten deaths at least … Someone at the Ministry has to be involved … Necromancers … very powerful … Is there anything you can tell me?"_

He suspected that Draco had searched Umbridge's office tonight. But that wouldn't be enough. Not if his suspicions were correct.

**oooOooo**


	146. Making a List and Checking it Twice

**Making a List and Checking it Twice**

Shacklebolt's steps slowed until they came to a halt.

_S__earching offices wouldn't be enough. But vague suspicions and dread without proof wouldn't get results either. Damn it all to hell and back._

To mask his reluctance to proceed, he turned to the window on his left. It was Charmed, of course; it showed the Thames, as it must have been once, long ago, on a summer afternoon before industrialization set in. The broad expanse of shimmering water, peaceful river banks overshadowed by bright brushes and the darker shilouettes of trees seemed to taunt him, aware as he was of the real London outside with its dismal December weather.

Kingsley stared at the new and sunny perspective of the river before him.

_A new perspective. That's what __I need._

And suddenly he knew. With the irrefutable clarity that had guided his political career from the Aurors' Office to the Order of the Phoenix to the Office of the Muggle Prime Minister and finally to become Minister of Magic.

He knew: _It was a set-up. The murders of the Muggle-born witches and wizards.. Maybe not the first or the second time – but the fifth, the sixth, the seventh and the subsequent killings. A set-up that would make desperate measures acceptable._

A white swan and a black swan drifted on the river before him, graceful and serene.

_I brought this on them_ Shacklebolt thought. He stared at the sunlight that glinted on the river, dappled, rippling golden-green flecks, as the light filtered through the leaves. _And all because of one moment of pettiness__ and because I was too enamoured with my own cunning …_

**oooOooo**

Shacklebolt knocked on the door, but he didn't wait for her high, girlish voice to invite him in. He flung open the door and strode into the room.

"Dolores, my dear."

She sat at her desk, a stack of Muggle-fashion paperwork in front of her. Just for a second he saw her face without the mask of smile and simper. He almost recoiled and only caught himself at the last moment.

"We have to talk," he said sharply.

The smile was back, too wide and too pink, and it did not reach her eyes. "I agree, Minister. There is much to discuss."

She twirled her wand in her fingers.

**oooOooo**

"Miss Petrel? I want to see you in my office after lunch."

Alina stared at the looming figure of her Head of House and felt quite brave for not flinching, faced as she was with Professor Snape at his most forbidding.

"Yes, sir," she squeaked.

A curt nod and he strode away, black robes billowing.

"Bat," Ebe grumbled.

"Shhh," cautioned Geilis with a furtive glance at the High Table.

"What does he want?" wondered Haemon.

Alina wrinkled her nose. "I think I know." She heaved a sigh. "I did so want to wait until I found all of the bells," she complained. "I was hoping he'd maybe even give some points to me. I bet the house-elves tattled."

"How many are still missing?" Ebe asked.

The Little Knights had spent most of their free time during the last two weeks bell-hunting. An adventure that had turned out to be trickier than anticipated. For some reason everyone (teachers, prefects and Filch's damn kittens) appeared to be watching them 24/7 no matter if they were up to some mischief or not. It wasn't fair. And when Alina had complained about it to Hermione, she'd only smiled and said that this was the price they had to pay for the fame they had acquired last year.

"Just one," Alina replied. She didn't manage to keep a sullen note from her voice. She had really wanted to impress her favourite teacher. And she was certain that presenting all the missing bells to him at once would have done the trick. "I haven't discovered the password for the bell tower yet."

**oooOooo**

After lunch, Hermione had some time to herself. She withdrew to her study in the dungeons. Once comfortably ensconced behind her desk, she spread out a piece of parchment in front of her. She placed the inkstand and the blotter within easy reach, controlled the pointy tip of her quill.

Then she took a deep breath. It was time to make a list.

Either she'd make a list and get a grip, or she'd panic and collapse and stay in the Hospital Wing being plied with Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep by Poppy Pomfrey until everything was over.

_Gryffindor_, she thought. _Know-It-All. What have you done during the last nine years when things were all snafu like that? Right. You made a list, checked it twice and started getting things DONE. There'll be time for panicking and collapsing later. _

_So now you start with that damn list. _

**Item #1:** research the Peverell brothers – how did they go beyond the Veil and come back alive?  
**Item #2:** research Necromancy (pick apart Severus' brains – threaten to talk to Madame Dubois if he's not forthcoming; talk to Madame Dubois anyway)  
**Item #3:** research the Veil (ask Harry for a piece of his Invisibility Cloak to experiment on?)  
**Item #4:** research magical tattoos (ask Madame Dubois for help?); if it's impossible to get rid of them, maybe the speed (consult Madam Pomfrey? Healer Mugwort?) of the spell can be slowed down? (BUT: what about the Ministry?)  
**Item #5:** prepare questions to be addressed at the next Order meeting  
**Item #6:** finish Potions essay (check references in 19th century edition of "Most Potente Potions"; British library – Muggle side/homeopathy)  
**Item #7:** prepare query letters for publication of essay (ask Severus for letter of recommendation?)  
**Item #8:** order books ("Charmed Potions through the Centuries", "Interdisciplinary Studies: Charms and Potions, Volume I", "Wand & Rod – The Tools of Masters")  
**Item #9:** Christmas present for Severus  
**Item #10:** Christmas presents for everyone else  
**Item #11:** plans for Christmas (ask Severus; Harry, Ron – the Burrow?)

_Plans for Christmas._ Hermione sighed and put her quill down. _Nothing could be further from my mind right now._

**oooOooo**


	147. Binder's Bell

**Binder's Bell**

Alina shuffled towards Professor Snape's office with her two newest bells clutched in her arms. She knew she was sulking, but she couldn't help it.

Her plan had been perfect.

She'd find the remaining bells. Then she'd go to his office – or better yet, she'd ask for _an appointment_ and _then_ come to his office. She would present the bells proudly and explain how and where she'd found them. And then he'd start teaching her the secrets of the bells …

Instead he'd summoned her summarily to his office, scowling at her in a fashion that told her she was in for it because she hadn't followed his instructions down to the last dot on the "i" and the last cross on the "t".

_Life simply isn't fair,_ Alina concluded. To add insult to injury, one of Filch's kittens, a dark marmalade tom growing lanky with youth had appointed himself her guardian. The dratted beast was spying on her as soon as she left her House. She couldn't put her smallest toe over the proverbial line without the little quarter-kneazle cocking his head at her as if he wanted to ask, _"Should I fetch a teacher now or later?"_

And then there was her jarvey. Cicero – by now firmly imprinted on her, and quite chatty in his strange mix of Latin vernacular and toddler-speak – resented being left alone in her dorm. He was quite demonstrative about his resentment, too. Not even the strongest _'Evanesco' _would get rid of the rich musky scent that pervaded the room by now. Her room mates had threatened to go to her Head of House to get either the jarvey or Alina or both out of their dorm. She couldn't even blame them. Or Cicero for that matter.

And why was she always so tired? Alina yawned, shifted the bells in her arms, and knocked on the door of Snape's office.

"Come in," Professor Snape called in his customary smooth voice and the heavy black door opened before her without a sound.

"You asked to see me, sir," Alina managed and stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Yes, indeed I did, Miss Petrel. Don't stand there, gawking. Come here, put those bells on the desk and sit down." A finger tapped impatiently at the edge of his ebony desk.

She inched forwards and unceremoniously set down her prizes.

Professor Snape bent forwards, narrowing his eyes to black slits. "Kibeth," he said softly. "The Walker who brings freedom of movement to the dead or takes them beyond the next gate. And Astarael, the Sorrowful, the final bell that casts everyone who hears her sound deep into Death …" He sighed. "Twenty points from Slytherin House for disobeying my explicit orders. Four points to Slytherin House for finding the bells. – Where did you find them?"

"I – Oh – Ah," Alina stuttered. "I'm sorry, sir."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then repeated more forcefully, "Where did you find them? Miss Petrel, I can't hear you."

Alina gulped. "The – the one you called Kibeth, it was with the house-elves. They have a whole floor with enchanted bells at the wall, according to rooms, back from when wizards would use bells to summon house-elves. And this one wouldn't ring. And it looks just like the others, silver with mahogany handle." Alina gasped for breath and hurried on. "And the other one was in the music room. Alyah – Miss Beiond – from Ravenclaw found it. It was in the cupboard with the old and broken instruments."

"And you assume that the last bell is in the bell tower?" he asked, face impassive, voice cool and silky.

Alina nodded. "Yes, sir. It's the pattern. Qui– my– he hid them in plain sight, most of them, anyway. Apart from the one behind his portrait and the one in the Room of Requirement. And if it's the biggest, deepest bell that's still missing, that would make sense."

She tried not to look too hopeful as she looked from the bells to her Head of House. Would he allow her to accompany him to the bell tower? But his next words crushed her hopes.

"Very well," Professor Snape said brusquely. He raised his hand and although he hadn't used his wand or said a word, the door opened again. "You may go."

**oooOooo**

His steps were heavy as he approached the bell tower.

_Damn you, Quirrell,_ Severus thought. But his thoughts lacked rancour. He'd long since come to terms with the man's deeds and motivations. He knew too much about the almost inescapable lure of knowledge, recognition, respect … and the more elusive, barely acknowledged need to _belong_.

_And now …_ He muttered the password and stepped into the dark staircase of the tower. When he thought of Quirrell now, it was mostly with envy, envy for that spirited, brilliant and beautiful girl that the man could have called daughter.

Slowly he ascended the stairs. The wind that blew in through the open windows moaned in the nooks and crannies of the building. Once he reached the top, Severus used the opportunity to gaze outside. The stark, melancholy beauty of the Highlands tugged at his heart, just like the vista of the many towers and turrets that made up Hogwarts castle, that made up his home.

Resolutely he turned to the bells.

Lion's roar, Raven's call, Badger's growl and Serpent's Hiss. _Admonita_ for storm's warning, _Hora_ for the hours' turning. _And …_ the mysterious silent bell.

He shook his head and wondered why he'd never realised the significance of the silver bell before.

For a moment Severus hesitated and stared at the silver body of the bell and the intricate runes that covered it. Then he pushed away all thoughts of what might have been aside and reached up to detach the bell from its hinges.

Saraneth, it was, the deepest and lowest of the Necromantic bells. The Binder, the bell who would shackle the Dead to the will of its wielder.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Bellmaking is a very old craft and traditionally bells get a name. I figured that Hogwarts would have some bells in a bell tower, too - to signal the end of lessons or in case there's a fire.


	148. A Unique Position

**A Unique Position**

"You need not concern yourselves with that problem," Severus said softly, "as I find myself in a unique position that will ensure my return no matter what happens."

The Headmistress blanched, but he caught her gaze and held it, unflinching. "You _know_ what I am talking about."

"I do, Severus," Minerva said at last. "But …" The older witch hesitated and glanced at Hermione, concern and pity evident in her piercing eyes. "There are others you should explain yourself to," she added pointedly.

Hermione watched the exchange with mounting trepidation. "Severus, what's going on? What _'unique position'_ are you talking about?"

The expression on his face remained inscrutable as he turned to her. Hermione felt Harry shift uncomfortably in the chair next to her, but Severus ignored him, as well as the others who were present.

Tonight that meant Madame Dubois, Bill Weasley, Professor Flitwick, Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort.

"You needn't be concerned about my return from beyond the Veil," he said curtly. "I am bound by an Unbreakable Vow not to kill myself. The penalty for breaking a vow like that is not death, of course." He hesitated for a moment. Hermione's mind was racing, connecting memories, things he had told her –

"Either Madame Dubois is right," Severus went on, "and Necromancers _can_ indeed move beyond the Veil and back. Or I will die and return anyway, coming back as a ghost because I broke the Vow. You see, one way or the other we _will_ get the information we need."

"That's why," Hermione gasped. "That's why you asked me to –" She stared at him in shock. "That's why you agreed to the apprenticeship. So you could order me to kill you – but it wouldn't have worked! The conditions of my indenture – you cannot command me to do anything illegal – and wouldn't the Vow have seen me as just another tool –" Hermione stopped short. _A tool._ She had been a tool for him. Nothing but a tool. She swallowed hard. _It's different now,_ she thought desperately. _And I _do_ understand. I really do. But if I understand, why does it hurt so much?_

He fixed his fathomless black gaze on her. "I would merely have ordered you to burn a piece of wood," he explained gently. "_I _would have been gone at that point. Though not dead," he smirked. "The Vow would have been satisfied. And making a fire for your master is perfectly legal."

"You were going to make your apprentice make a fire _with_ her master?" Harry gaped at Snape for a moment, before he rounded on him hotly. "That may be legal, you manipulative, scheming Slytherin bastard, but you know what? FUCK legal, what the hell were you THINKING? She was trying to save your life! And she was –" He glanced at Hermione, his green eyes aflame with fury, "– she _is_ in love with you!"

Severus' face contorted into a grimace of pain and … Hermione frowned. _Guilt?_ No matter. She jumped up and, stepping in front of her husband, she turned to face Harry. For a moment she didn't know what to say. Her confusion and shock threatened to overwhelm her and to destroy the last vestiges of her composure.

"Harry. Severus. _Not one word._" She inhaled deeply. "Harry, why Severus took me on as his apprentice is his business. Whatever he may have wanted to make me do or not is something between him and myself. It is of no consequence for the problems ahead of us."

She stared at Harry until he scowled at her and slumped back down in sullen silence. When she was sure that her friend was not about to hex her husband, she stepped aside, glancing at Severus in warning. _We'll talk later,_ she thought at him. He raised his eyebrows at her, but leant back in his chair in wordless acquiescence.

An awkward silence settled over the room. Madame Dubois spoke up first, seemingly unfazed by the tangible tension in the air. "An interesting Vow," she commented, "Who made you take it?"

Severus glanced at Hermione. Then his gaze jumped to Harry. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth, giving away that he was not as calm as he pretended to be. "A – a former friend," he replied at last. "She was … worried about me. And she feared we would not be – in a position to – re-establish that friendship ..." He trailed off uncomfortably.

Harry came to the same conclusion as Hermione at exactly the same time. Only while she bit down on her lip, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"My … mother?" he croaked. "She – when – how?"

Severus sighed. "Not long before she … before _your parents_ were killed. She –" He shook his head. "It was the last time I saw your mother before she died. I think she knew what – I'd done – all of it. She – I'd like to think she meant it as a sign of forgiveness. She said that she feared for me." He stared blankly ahead as he went on, "I told her that I would do anything she asked of me. She asked for an Unbreakable Vow."

Madame Dubois didn't appear impressed. "Interesting way of showing your forgiveness to a _spy_, isn't it? Taking away his final means of escape."

When both Harry and Severus rounded on her with nearly identical frowns, she just raised delicate eyebrows. "However, you're married now, therefore I imagine you _would_ prefer to come back alive. As I don't assume that a man's marital relations would benefit from putting mind over matter quite like that.  
"Therefore I suggest we concentrate our efforts on solving this riddle in a way that leaves _you _alive and kicking."

"And how," Severus asked with a sneer, "do you propose to do that, Madame?"

"With what we know," Dubois replied archly. "And maybe some additional research."

"And _what_ exactly do you think that we know?" Severus snarled, losing his temper at last.

**oooOooo**


	149. Power and Peverells

**Power and Peverells**

_Here we go,_ Hermione thought and took a deep breath. "All evidence points towards the fact that the Peverell brothers passed beyond the Veil and returned. We know that the wood of the Elder Wand came from trees growing on the banks of the River of Death. Severus, Alina and I've seen them. Severus tells us that the Resurrection Stone is made of the same stone as the Nine Gates. This information can be checked easily by asking one of the registered Necromancers. They must have seen the Gates, so they should be able to corroborate that. Finally, while the Stone and the Wand are lost or destroyed, Harry still has the Cloak and there is that … image? Simulacrum? Reflection? Of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. We _should_ be able to determine if Nicolas Flamel's claim is correct and the Cloak is really made of the same fabric or substance as the Veil.  
"However, all of this can only prove that it is likely _that_ the Peverell brothers went beyond the Veil and returned.  
"What we really need to know is _how_ they managed it.  
"The biggest clue so far seems to be how powerful they were. All sources agree that they were the most powerful wizards of their time. In connection with what Severus said about how he was barely able to return from the last precinct of Death, that seems to be one of the two most important factors.  
"The Peverell brothers had two things going for them: they were _Necromancers_, and they were _damn strong_."

Dubois nodded approvingly. Then she added, "There is something else we know: They were _three._ Three is a number of unique power. The first odd prime number, the pivotal number in many Muggle maths theories, one of the most powerful figures known in Arithmancy. _And_the figure with the most important influence on mythology, both Muggle and magical."

"Unfortunately we don't have three Peverell brothers readily available just now," Harry commented. "But that was a good summary, 'Mione."

"So that is the reason why you went to bed at 3 am during the last week," Severus remarked.

Hermione gnawed on her lower lip and ducked her head, blushing. Then she shrugged. "Research is what I do best."

"So the salient factors may rather be that the Peverells were very strong and that they were Necromancers, and not some arcane spells or something?" Harry asked.

Dubois nodded. "Of course it is prudent to find out as much as possible about the spells they may have used. But indeed, that _is _what it all may come down to: Necromantic talent and brute magical strength."

Harry forked his hands through his hair. "So, are there three Necromancers around who are as strong as the Peverells supposedly were?"

Minerva shook her head. "Currently there are three Necromancers registered with the British Ministry of Magic. One of them works for the Ministry, the other is a decrepit old man in a nursing home near Leeds. And the third is an inmate of the Spell Damages ward at St. Mungo's."

She glanced at Madame Dubois. "How about Necromancers in France or in the States?"

Dubois shook her head. "Necromancy is a very rare gift, and it has a very bad reputation. I think I am currently the only Necromancer registered in France. And while there are five Necromancers active in the States – one of them a quite powerful young lady in St. Louis – I doubt they are anywhere near as strong as Professor Snape or Mr. Potter."

"Do you need three strong _wizards_? Or do you need three strong _Necromancers_?" Healer Mugwort asked.

"It _is_ possible for Necromancers to take another wizard with them," Severus said. "If the other wizard has a certain _'affinity'_ for Death, the Necromancer will be able to draw on their power."

"That's what Alina did," Hermione interrupted. "When she took me with her to look for you!"

Dubois frowned. "Who is this Alina? You've mentioned her name before."

"A student," Minerva explained. "A Second Year of Slytherin House."

"She's a Necromancer," Hermione added.

"How strong is she?" Dubois asked at once.

"She's a child!" Severus exclaimed, raising his hands in a gesture of denial. "Barely a teenager! She's only thirteen."

Dubois regarded him dispassionately. "In terms of power youth doesn't matter that much. What you need is either three powerful Necromancers or three powerful wizards with as much in the way of Necromantic affinity as you can find."

"Harry has it, too," Hermione said suddenly. "He entered Death before he defeated Voldemort. And he _is_ the descendant of Ignotus Peverell."

Harry grimaced at her. "And what about you?" he retaliated. "Technically, you died when _you_ saved Snape the first time. And then you died _again_ when _he _saved you at Halloween."

"If that guy near Leeds is out of the running and the lady at St. Mungo's as well – why don't we grade the power of those we've got?" Bill Weasley suggested. "It's a very simple test."

**oooOooo**

"_'Sphaera magica illumina'_ is the spell. The wand gesture is a perfect circle. Pour in all the strength you've got. And everyone else: don't forget to shield your eyes – that is really important! You can go blind if you don't protect yourself," Minerva ordered. "Is everyone ready? Yes? Severus, you can go first."

Severus produced a ball of lightning that hurt Hermione's eyes even through her protective goggles.

Harry was next. His orb appeared to be slightly smaller and its flare was not as intense as that of Severus'.

Then it was Hermione's turn. Although bright and clear, her globe was considerably smaller and paler than the other two.

Alina followed her. The burst of lightning she produced didn't keep its shape and it was the smallest yet. However, it was just as bright as Severus' magic.

Madame Dubois cast the spell with casual elegance. But although her sphere was perfectly formed and its light glowed evenly, it was very small and translucent.

**oooOooo**


	150. Trio or Duo?

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Trio or Duo?**

Percy observed the procession of dark-robed men from the visitors' entrance to the meeting-room where Umbridge was waiting. He wondered why their presence bothered him so much. After all, the corridors and hallways were full of robed men, of men and women in robes of every imaginable colour, day and night. Was it because of the weird hair-style they favoured? But there were bald wizards, too. His own father sported a hairline that was quite visibly receding with age. Or their piercing eyes, filled with distrust and thinly veiled disapproval? But Minerva McGonagall could outstare most Slytherins with her beady gaze. And he was certain that Severus Snape would have those Muggles quaking in their boots within seconds.

_Was it just because they were Muggles? _That thought disturbed him. Had he learnt nothing from his experiences during the war? Percy shook himself. His boss was waiting for him. Andromeda Tonks-Black and he were investigating if the magical tattoos had been manipulated from within the Ministry of Magic. A job of late nights, high stacks of parchment and finicky detection spells. Probably the most important job of his life. He swallowed hard. _And not only of _his_ life.__The lives of many others depended on his work._

Turning around, he almost collided with the Minister of Magic. He apologised profusely, bowed and looked expectantly at the older man, but there was barely a reaction. Shacklebolt looked dazed and merely nodded at him, before he hurried on. His movements were mechanical, as if he was beyond weariness. _And …_ Percy grimaced. He must have been to see Umbridge this morning already. A wave of jarvey musk floated in the wake of the Minister's passage.

Just before they disappeared from his sight, Percy noticed that one of the dark-robed Muggles had slowed down. The man was watching him – and the Minister. Dark eyes glinted with what Percy recognised as shrewd cunning and a flicker of … _of what?_ Suspicion? Dread? But why would a Muggle who belonged to an official diplomatic delegation be afraid of him? Or the Minister?

**oooOooo**

"Alina _would_ be the logical choice for a third," Hermione admitted at last, but Ron noticed that she wouldn't look at Harry. "If it's really necessary to have a team of three …"

Snape shook his head at once. "Absolutely not. She's a child. And a student. I will not allow that."

"Look, Severus," Harry cut in. "I understand why you don't like that. I really do. But … she's strong _and_ she's a Necromancer. She has also proven on more than one occasion that she's smart and that she can handle herself in difficult situations. I mean, if you think back, in my second year _I_ had already faced –" He stopped. A flush and a sheepish expression suffused his face. "_Umm._ Well. I guess there's no really good way to put that, is there? In my second year I'd already faced Alina's dad with Voldemort attached to him _and_ I survived the Chamber of Secrets. I mean _that_ was dangerous, too."

"Exactly," Snape hissed. A vein at the man's temple pulsed, betraying his agitation in spite of the soft tone of his voice. "You _could_ have been killed. Your _friends _could have been killed. Back then it was my task to ensure your survival – against all odds, including murderous plots of various Death Eaters, and even against Albus Dumbledore's infernal meddling. Today I am responsible for Alina's safety. And while I know better than anybody else about the mitigating circumstances for your extracurricular activities, I fail to understand how arithmantic statistics justify endangering the life of a young girl."

Harry's eyes flashed green lightning. He straightened up, a look of barely contained belligerence on his face. For a moment Ron wondered if his friend was actually looking forward to risking his life again.

"Harry, mate," Ron interrupted. "I'm sorry, but for once I have to agree with Sn- with Professor Snape. I don't know a lot about arithmancy, but even I know that every figure has some kind of power. So if the two of you are the strongest wizards in the world, you should be able to pull off this stunt on your own. Leave the kid out of it."

Snape and Hermione looked at him with disconcertingly similar expressions of astonishment.

Harry glared at him. "No risk, no fun," he snapped. "And if Madame Dubois and Professor Vector both say that a trio has the best chance, then I think we should bloody well put together a trio for this expedition."

Ron looked at Harry and wondered if he'd always been so stubborn. Hermione was still staring at her interlaced fingers as if they held the answers to all her questions. Snape was glaring at Harry and studiously ignoring Hermione.

"Harry? Could I talk with you for a moment outside?" Ron glanced at McGonagall, belatedly realising that he was interrupting an Order meeting. But McGonagall nodded.

He practically dragged Harry from his chair and out the door.

"What?" Harry ground out once they were in the hallway.

"Harry, I don't know why you don't want to listen. But you're taking things too far. No one knows if you can get beyond the Veil _and back_. And no matter what Dubois and Vector are saying about favourable figures, Snape at least is convinced that he'll only get back as a ghost. Have you even noticed how he won't even _look_ at Hermione? Bloody hell, Harry, do you even _care_ how dangerous that trip is?"

**oooOooo**

"Are you feeling better?" Hermione asked softly. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry. That's a stupid question."

The room was dark and cold, apart from the warmth of her body at his side. He would have preferred to be alone, without the constant reminder of what he would lose. The warm curves of her body pressed against him. The sighs of her pleasure exhaled into shared kisses.

"At least Alina will be safe now," he replied.

"Hopefully …"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	151. It Hurts When I Smile

**It Hurts When I Smile**

"So Severus and Harry will go into the Realm of Death to discover what happened to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and if whatever happened to it has anything to do with the curse that is draining the magical power from the tattooed witches and wizards?" Lois asked.

Hermione had insisted on meeting with Lois and telling her about – well, obviously not about _everything_ that had happened, but about the salient points. Now she sat in Lois' living room and tried to answer her friend's questions.

"Yes, that's the plan right now," she replied. "Lois, please don't be –" Hermione hesitated. Asking her friend not to be scared or angry was ridiculous. She exhaled heavily. "For a while we – the Order of the Phoenix, that is – considered including Alina in the team. She's very powerful. One day she might be as powerful as Severus or Harry. And she is a Necromancer. Madame Dubois and Professor Vector suggested that due to the arithmantic power of three, a trio might be the best team we could send out. Harry was in favour of that solution. I didn't like it, but I admit that I supported it, too.

"Severus refused to even think about it. And Ron …" Hermione smiled a little. "He got all protective of Alina. There was a vote and it was decided that only Severus and Harry would go. I thought you should know about that." She looked at Lois and considered the way her friend's brown eyes darkened. "So, how are things between you and Ron?"

Lois stroked back her hair and adjusted the elastic ribbon that fastened her pony tail. She nervously scratched at her left eyebrow. "Good," she said at last. "Very good, actually. He's good for me. And I think I'm good for him." For a moment Lois was silent and stared into her tea-cup. Then she said, without looking at Hermione, "I guess it goes without saying that I'm incredibly relieved that the Order decided against sending Alina. All of this …" She gestured helplessly. "I hope you don't mind that I'm saying this, but even _now_ there are nights when I wake and wonder how all of this can possibly be real. Magic, you know. Necromancers. The Realm of Death. But at the same time I'm desperately worried about you, about Severus, about all the other witches and wizards with Muggle blood." Lois hesitated before she went on, her voice a careful monotone. "You have no idea how difficult it is for me to say this, Hermione. Alina's just a child and she's all the family I have left. But – if it's necessary to include her, if it really increases the chances of the team, then I _want_ her to go. Even if she is – if she is – only 13."

Hermione's throat constricted. She felt always close to tears these days and her friend's courage and loyalty – she blinked hurriedly and tightened her diaphragm to support her voice. "In spite of what Severus and Ron said, Harry, as well as Madame Dubois and Professor Vector, and Minerva, I might add, had good reasons to want to include Alina. She is a powerful Necromancer, after all.  
"_However,_ there are just as many good reasons to exclude her.  
"While the legends speak of _three_ Necromancers going beyond the Veil and returning, _Harry_ is not a Necromancer. And including Alina would also mean including a female element where mythology only speaks of _male_ power.  
"We don't know if it is possible to return from the beyond the Veil at all or how that is possible. What we _do_ know is that Severus will return, one way or the other. And that it was Dark, Necromantic Magic that caused the paralysis. It _seems_ likely that there is a connection to the leeching spell, but of course we can't be certain."  
"Madame Dubois, Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort are working on a counter-spell for the tattoos," Hermione went on.  
"All things considered, while it seems necessary and inevitable to _attempt_ the journey beyond the Veil, it is _not_ necessary and inevitable to include Alina. We'll find a way to counteract the leeching curse. Sooner or later. We have already discovered that the wards at Hogwarts provide some shelter from the spell. We need to keep the children as safe as we possibly can. And that does most certainly _not_ include sending Alina beyond the Veil," Hermione concluded. She didn't quite succeed at keeping the despair out of her voice.

"So you don't believe they have a chance?"

Hermione shrugged unhappily. "Harry is _'The-Boy-Who-Lived'_ – twice. So I suppose there is really no reason why he shouldn't get lucky a third time." She slumped down and buried her face in her hands. "And Severus … well, he _will_ be back, one way or another. So there's really nothing to worry about, right?"

She felt like crying, but at the same time she simply couldn't allow herself to let go. She didn't know if she'd be able to stop. At last she looked up and faced Lois again. Her friend's calm and supportive demeanour made that easier.

"So what will happen now?" Lois asked.

"I am going to research the legends of the Deathly Hallows and the Peverell brothers, trying to discover a clue that might help us. Anne Flamel is going to help me. The manuscripts of her uncle will be invaluable, that much is clear already. Professor Vector and Professor Trelawney are trying to determine the best day for the … the venture." Hermione sighed. "Apart from that … Severus and I are going to spend Christmas at his house in Spinner's End. We need to get away from everything. At least for a little while. We were hoping that you and Alina would come over for tea on Boxing Day. And of course we'll meet you at the big New Year's party at the Burrow." It hurt to smile, but she managed. "Hey, it's Christmas time, after all."

**oooOooo**


	152. New Spells

**New Spells**

Madame Dubois thoughtfully regarded the young wizard who slouched in the wingback chair. The casual posture was clearly just an act. There was nothing relaxed about the dark circles under his eyes or the random nervous gestures that left his black hair thoroughly messed up from forking his fingers through it.

"So what did you do during the last week?" Harry Potter asked.

"I've been working with Madam Pomfrey and Healer Mugwort on a counter-curse for the leeching spell," Claire replied and poured herself some coffee although her stomach wouldn't approve. Ten days of long hours, little sleep and hard work were taking their toll. Still, in spite of the dire circumstances Claire had to admit that she enjoyed working at Hogwarts. For a school-nurse Pomfrey had an excellent grasp of advanced medi-wizardry, Mugwort's skills proved just why St. Mungo's was internationally renowned as a hospital and research facility and Professor Weasley might just be the best curse-breaker she'd ever encountered.

"And?"

Dubois raised the mug of coffee to her lips and took a soothing sip, before she explained, "We haven't been able to break the curse, but we _have_ discovered a way to contain it – with a second tattoo, on the other arm, in the shape of the rune Eihwaz. It will counteract the curse and slow it down. Right now we can't stop the process, but in time even that may be possible. However, there's no telling _when_ that will be. Or what will happen when the perpetrators realise that their spell has been contained."

"So we still have to go beyond the Veil." Harry sighed.

She narrowed her eyes. There was a glint in those famous green eyes which made her think that Harry Potter was not exactly devastated that the plan hadn't changed. Secretly she wondered if it was a case of a young Auror going stir-crazy after growing up on adventure and adrenaline, or if there were other – and darker – issues involved. "Mr. Potter, if you don't mind the question – why did you support the idea to include Miss Petrel in the team so vehemently? Professor Snape did not like that at all."

The young man frowned and fidgeted. His answer was evasive. "Se– Professor Snape doesn't like _me_ at all. He thinks I'm just like my father, a reckless, careless Gryffindor."

Claire decided to prod a little. She raised a challenging eyebrow. "And are you?"

The young Auror studied her for a moment before he replied, effectively answering her question before he'd said a word. The wry smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth let her know that he was fully aware of that. "Sometimes, I guess. Look, I don't like putting lives at risk. But I've had to learn the hard way that this is not always possible. Sometimes it's necessary. People have risked their lives for me and were _ordered_ to risk their lives for me for as long as I'm alive."

"So now it's your turn to do that?"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "NO! Do you think I _want _to give an order that puts a child's life at risk? That's wrong. It was wrong _then_, it's wrong now."

That did not sound like the reaction of a young hero thirsty for new adventures. "But?"

"I want to do whatever is necessary to ensure that _he_ gets back alive," the young wizard muttered. He appeared to be very interested in the pattern on the office floor now.

Claire's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she kept her next question as cool and neutral as she could, especially since she was aware of just who was silently waiting just outside the door. "Who?"

"Snape," Harry replied. "It's pretty clear that he _must_ go, no matter who else could or would go. And he _wants_ to go alone, because he's convinced that he'll die there. But you see, I can't let that happen. I … I owe him. He's risked his life for me and for everybody else way too often already. He deserves to live, and to live happily. And Hermione, too.

"What you said about the power of three made sense to me. And Minerva's test proved that Alina is not only a Necromancer, but also very powerful." Harry sighed before he straightened his shoulders. "Alina's life is _already_ at stake because of that tattoo. And as an Auror and a member of the Order it is_my_ duty to try and get together the team with the best chances of success."

After a pause, Harry turned towards the door. "Why don't you come in, Severus?"

For a moment the room was silent, then Claire heard a muffled snort and the door opened. Snape sneered at Harry. "Not only a reckless and careless Gryffindor, but also too sentimental for your own good. _Tut tut tut."_

Harry smiled faintly. "Not everyone can be a careful, calculating Slythern who always keeps a cool head."

A black eyebrow flicked upwards. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me. You should know that by now." Then Snape turned, indicating the bandolier he wore over his frock coat. "I brought the bells as you requested. What can I do for you?"

"During the experiments with the tattoos I've developed a spell that may show us if there is a connection between the leeching spell and the portrait paralysis. It's an adaptation of _'Vim Magicam Revelio'_, but it requires the caster as well as the object of the spell to enter Death."

Snape frowned. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea, _Madame_ – you must be aware that I'm not registered as a Necromancer yet."

"Oh, _naturellement! _I almost forgot." Claire smiled. "Your Headmistress told me about certain … _bureaucratic_ difficulties concerning your registration. Here." She picked up a scroll from the desk and held it out to him. "French registrations are valid according to the multilateral registrations agreements signed by all member states of the ICW. It will be forwarded to your Ministry in due time."

**oooOooo**


	153. Tests and Tribulations

**Tests and Tribulations**

"Very well," Snape said. He stared at Harry, his expression between a smirk and a painful grimace. "You'll have to take my hand."

Harry realised that he still couldn't think of him as _'Severus'_. Just as the pause before Snape would speak _his_name betrayed the professor's discomfort at this new stage of their … well, it wasn't really friendship yet. Even though they appeared to have passed the bitter enmity of his school years.

"Okay," he said at last and tentatively reached for the other man's hand.

Snape's hand was warm, the skin dry. His long fingers were strangely slender and fragile under Harry's touch. For a moment they stared at each other, supremely discomfited at their close proximity.

"Merlin and Circe!" Dubois exclaimed. "No one expects you to kiss and make out! Monsieur Potter, Professor Snape needs to hold your hand so you can enter the Realm of Death together."

"Wait a second," Harry protested. "We're supposed to run around like Hansel and Gretel while we're there?"

Snape smirked. "Bingo."

Harry shook his head. "We might as well start snogging."

"Sorry, Potter, but I'm afraid my wife doesn't share. – Now hand me that sword."

**oooOooo**

Death was different this time.

There was no train station. There was no Dumbledore waiting for him. Cold, clammy mists that drifted over the banks of a dark river surrounded him. In the distance Harry thought he could see the silhouettes of trees, but he couldn't be sure. The fog limited his vision to a few feet of frozen ground and murky waters. He felt as if he'd woken in an old black-and-white movie.

The Gate that he'd heard so much about was nowhere to be seen.

His breath froze in prickling crystals around his mouth. The cold seeped into his bones. When he shifted his weight on his feet, ice cracked on his robes. The only warmth radiated from his right hand – the hand that was clutching Snape's as if he was his last anchor in the darkness.

Harry turned his face towards his former teacher. A figure made of black and white, Severus Snape did not look all that different in the gloaming of death.

Only his eyes were burning. Still black, but hot as coals, full of bright, dark life.

"It's so dark here." Harry shivered, vaguely ashamed at his lack of courage.

"It won't be like this when … when it's your time, in case you're worried," Snape said gruffly. "This is what scholars call the _'objective dimension'_ of Death. It's black and white for everyone. The _'subjective dimension'_ is supposed to be different. Experts say that it will show you what you truly believe. I suspect for Gryffindors it will be all reds and golds."

Harry swallowed hard. It cost him a conscious effort not to cling to Snape with his other hand as well. He shuddered. When he replied at last, his voice was husky, "Th– there were no c– colours for me before. Only greys."

Snape looked at Harry for a long moment, but before he could say anything, the mists near the river shifted and Madame Dubois stepped out of them. Hoarfrost covered her hair and her lashes were thick with rime. "Well," the blond witch beamed, seemingly unaffected by her surroundings. "We're here, all of us. _C'est magnifique, n'est-ce pas?"_

Harry blinked at her smile in disbelief. Then he remembered to breathe. "Yeah, I guess."

**oooOooo**

_"Vim magicam per vitam ad mortem revelio,"_ Dubois chanted, executing a strange swirl with her wand, pointing it at Harry's arm. To Harry it looked as if she was executing wand movements he should know, only they were all _wrong_. Of course! Suddenly he felt extremely stupid. The portrait mistress moved her wand _the other way!_ In Death the directions of the wand movements were all reversed.

His left arm tingled, then burned.

One thing was sure, Death didn't agree with his reflexes. He felt as if he was immersed in heavy, icy water. At last he was looking at his left arm and the forked tattoo of the rune Elhaz.

A strange green light issued from the tattoo, a thin thread of luminosity that snaked away from him into the mist hovering above the river. The haze glowed with an eerie emerald glow that only faded far away from the water's edge.

Straining his eyes, Harry thought he could make out the distant outline of a wall, or maybe a gate …

"Damn," he whispered.

The tall dark man at his side followed his gaze. "For once I couldn't agree more."

**oooOooo**

"Are you going to sleep tonight at all?"

"Hmm?"

"Hermione."

"_Oh._ – Oh, sorry, Severus. I didn't realise. I – just another chapter. I've been reading about the Peverell brothers and the Deathly Hallows all day and it's been such a waste of time. Well, I guess philosophically or psychologically those legends may have their merits. Did the brothers build a metaphorical bridge across the River of Death, the way versions A, B1 and B2 tell us? Or did they devise a way to draw back the Veil of Death, the way version C and D1 tell us? Or did they make it all up? That would be D2 and of course, AD.

"This," she thumped the book she was immersed in, "is at least something practical. Something useful."

"What _are_ you reading?" Severus asked, realising belatedly that Hermione was indeed still wide awake, reading and studying at 3 am.

"I'm cross-referencing _'Wand & Rod – The Tools of Masters'_ by Dick Hertz and Stuart Pot against the Pomet manuscript."

Severus squinted at her. "Why would you do that? No – forget that question. Why would _anybody_ do that, especially at 3 _bloody_ am in the morning?"

"Well, _I_ am doing it because _you_ told me I have to know Charmed potions for the second half of my apprenticeship and because I suck at working with two wands." She sobered and added, "And because I'm getting nowhere researching the damn Deathly Hallows."

**oooOooo**


	154. Tea with the Headmistress

**Tea with the Headmistress**

A hand on her arm penetrated the warm fuzziness of sleep.

"Hmm?"

"I will only talk to you if you open your eyes," a silky voice whispered close to her ear. A shiver ran down her neck and slid over her skin, raising her nipples hard against the fabric of her nightshift.

Hermione blinked her eyes open. The first thing she saw were her husband's eyes, warm and dark. Then she noticed that his hair was freshly washed and combed and that he was dressed. She couldn't prevent a disappointed sigh from slipping out.

A slight smile curved his thin lips. His hand stroked her skin, tenderly cupping her cheek. He drew back, then his fingertips trailed the outline of her face, temples, ear, jaw …

"You fell asleep reading this morning," Severus murmured.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It's just, I worry so much. And maybe there's something somewhere, in a book or in a scroll that can help you."

She wanted to kiss him so much. _No._ She wanted _him_. So much. She felt short of breath from the bittersweet pain of wanting him, those fathomless eyes, lanky hair, thin lips, clever fingers, slender-sinewy-solid body smelling of nutmeg, vetyver, bergamot –

"It's just that I feel I'm missing something," she forced herself to go on. No time for what she wanted now, first things first. "I've been researching the different versions of the legends for the Deathly Hallows for days now. And –"

Shaking his head, Severus placed a finger on her lips. "Did I say that Gryffindors are reckless? _'Relentless_' might have been more appropriate."

**oooOooo**

In spite of the roaring fire, it was chilly in the office. Of course, that might simply indicate that the situation getting to her at last, Minerva McGonagall mused, as she sat down on the wrong side of her desk and pulled the implements for her afternoon tea towards her.

She gazed at the paralysed portrait of Albus Dumbledore and shook her head. With the broad strokes of paint and the stark colours, the painting could have won prizes at any exhibition for expressionist art.

Minerva poured herself a cup and concentrated on preparing it the way she liked it. A generous dollop of milk for her inner cat and just a bit of sugar. For a moment she stared at her hands, the slender fingers curled around the handle, the papery skin on the back of her hand, the faint blue-green tracery of veins. At last she sighed and looked up.

"Well, Albus. Another week is over, and next week most students will leave for the holidays. We're keeping all students of Muggle origin here this year. The wards of Hogwarts provide some protection against the leeching spell." She raised her cup and took a sip. "Severus, Harry and Madame Dubois have discovered that the magical power is siphoned off to somewhere deep within the Realm of Death, at the very least beyond the First Gate. By now I fear it is too much to hope for that your condition and the leeching spell are not linked."

Minerva toyed with her spoon. "Draco and Percy have been trying to find out if – or probably rather: _who_ at the Ministry is involved. Their prime suspect is Umbridge. But I find it hard to believe that this brainless cretin could successfully employ powerful magic of any kind, least of all Necromantic magic. Draco has searched her office and found no evidence for any misdeed. But that means nothing, of course.  
"Healer Mugwort and Madame Dubois have come up with a way to counteract the leeching spell. A second tattoo with the rune Eihwaz on the other arm can be used to contain the effect of the curse.  
"The problem is that the counter-tattoos increase the strength of the spell for the other affected witches and wizards. That means once a critical number of counter-tattoos is reached, the remaining witches and wizards will die. The counter-tattoos provide only some respite. At the moment the Order is attempting to provide counter-tattoos for the weakest – the very young and the very old, the sick.  
"We need to find the source of the curse and to break it. _And_ the perpetrators responsible for it.  
"I'm worried about Shacklebolt, Albus. The pressure is getting to him. Yes, yes, I know that he's a very talented politician. But he's still very young and his position with the Wizengamot is still precarious. As there is still the chance that someone at the Ministry is involved in all of this, he feels that he can trust no one at all. I fear it was a mistake not to integrate the Order in the Ministry. Then Kingsley wouldn't be as alone in all of this. And the position and the influence of the Order … I keep thinking of what happened to Severus –" Her voice faltered. "If we might have been able to prevent it." Minerva frowned, trying to discern a face, an echo of twinkling eyes in the garish colours on the canvas, but failed. "I know, Albus, I know – I remember everything you said about the Order's independence, how the Order must not be turned into a secret service. But things have changed since you died, and even more since you –" She shook her head. For a long while she remained silent, gazing at the strange painting behind her desk. Now and again she took a swallow of tea, although it had grown quite cold by now.

"I wish there was anything I could do. But as an Animagus my powers belong to life and the living – I am completely useless in this case," Minerva McGonagall whispered. "I am just so worried about Harry."

She stared at her hand as if her piercing glare could keep her hand from shaking.

"And Hermione."

The cup clattered down on the saucer.

"And Severus."

The painting of Albus Dumbledore remained still, while the occupants of the other portraits shifted uncomfortably in their frames.

**oooOooo**


	155. A Bridge between Life and Death

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**A Bridge between Life and Death**

Hermione resurfaced from her research only late in the afternoon.

The stack of essays in front of Severus had dwindled to just three scrolls, while the tower of books on her desk seemed to have grown exponentially.

Hermione looked tired, her eyes bruised by purple smudges. But Severus didn't have the heart to tell her off.

"Those legends of the Deathly Hallows," Hermione reiterated. "I keep thinking there's something I'm missing. You know, like those classroom games – when you send a student outside, then you hide a ring and call the student back to search for the ring, and her best friend is wearing the ring on her finger … As if there's something in plain view and I'm only too dense to notice."

He nodded and refrained from uttering a snide, impatient comment. She was doing her best. Even if he didn't believe that there was anything to be found, she only wanted to help. He pinched the bridge of his nose. She wanted to help _him_. When was the last time someone had wanted to help him – before_she_ had decided to invade his life in all her stubbornness?

"Obviously the _'bridge'_ the Peverells built must have been something else and not a bridge at all. The point is not to _cross _the River of Death after all, but to _follow_ it down to the Ninth Gate, to pass through it and beyond the Veil. So maybe it's just a _metaphor_ for saying that they were Necromancers." She fell silent and proceeded to chew on her lower lip as if it were one of those intolerable bubble gums. "And that _'bridge' _is not present in all versions of the legend. I've spent most of the week tracing the origins of the Deathly Hallows myth. There seem to be two _'original'_versions. Or at least they are the oldest ones I can track. One is the _'bridge'_ story. The other is the _'Veil'_ story, which basically says _'they drew back the Veil and entered the Realm of Death'."_

He had to admit to feeling something akin to respect for her. Yes, indeed: respect. For her _relentless,_ methodical pursuit of knowledge in the face of despair.

_Despair._ Where had _that _thought come from? He cupped his forehead in his palm to avoid looking at her. He had woken more than once lately to find her clutching him as if he were the only thing that kept her afloat in the deep, dark sea of night. When it happened the first time, with her attached to him like a limpet, his nightshirt wet with her tears, his first impulse had been to wake her and scold her. But something had kept him from rousing her and ranting at her.

The very same feeling that was crushing his heart now and throwing it wide open, all at the same time. How was it possible to feel such pain and such joy within one breath? It was quite ridiculous.

_She loved him. He loved her._

And because he was Severus Snape, this story could not possibly have a happy ending.

"… they must have done something. Something that allowed them to get in and back out," Hermione was saying. "But the only thing that was recorded are those blasted legends. Not even the Flamel manuscripts have much more than that. So I'm trying to pay close attention to details." She thumped on the back of an old book with the palm of her hand. "Like the different versions of that legend."

He nodded. That made sense. "So there are two basic versions of the story?" he asked.

"Yes! And I think the one with the Veil is the older version, but I can't prove it. Draw back the Veil. Open the Gate. How do you do that? How do you keep veils, curtains or gates open?"

"Doorstops? Hooks?"

"And if you don't have that? Think on a metaphorical, on a magical level – what would you use?"

"My wand," he replied without thinking.

"Your wand …" A dreamy expression suffused Hermione's warm brown eyes. "Of course. To draw back the curtain, to prop open the Gate, to build a _bridge _between Life and Death. Wands. A connection. A connection _between_ wands. _And _between Life and Death.  
"There was a connection between the wands of Harry and Voldemort. They shared their core. But that was all here, in the living world. Is there a spell that would extend the connection between here and there, between Life and Death?"

**oooOooo**

"Your Minister," the black-robed Muggle inquired. "He doesn't look well."

Draco found it difficult not to flinch under the fixed, beady-eyed man's stare. Percy had warned him of those Muggles, had complained how uncomfortable they made him. He ought to have listened. If they made a card-carrying Muggle-lover like Weasley twitchy, it was no wonder that _he_ felt like hiding under his desk.

He glanced at Kingsley. The Minister_did_ appear less than healthy. But the same was true for most Order members right now. Even _Umbridge_ looked a little worse for wear.

She was on stage now and there was surprisingly little spring to her step. Her gaze flickered among the audience as she reeled off a message of goodwill and brotherhood among wizards and Muggles that had been rehearsed too often to sound real.

Draco noticed that the Muggle next to him was still watching the Minister, as Kingsley staggered stiffly to his seat. When the man turned back to Draco, his expression was almost fearful.

"Do you believe in the resurrection of the body? Or in the conjuring of bones?" the Muggle asked in a soft voice.

"What?! No, of course not," Draco exclaimed, shocked. "Why should I?"

But at that moment Umbridge finished her speech. Whatever else the man might have said was drowned by a wave of polite applause. Then Umbridge gestured to Draco to join her at the front and he had no further opportunity to talk to the strange Muggle.

**oooOooo**


	156. Credo

**_'Credo'_**** Means _'I Believe'_**

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his sheepish expression behind his pint of butterbeer.  
Draco, Harry, Luna, Ginny and Hermione had met in the Leaky Cauldron. Ron didn't have time; so close to Christmas he couldn't leave the shop for a long lunch break.

"I'm just not any good with Muggles," Draco said defensively. "And you have to admit that's a creepy question!"

Hermione giggled. "For you, maybe. _'The resurrection of the body'_ is part of the Creed."

"The what?"

"Creed – a statement of belief. Many religions have something like that. A series of sentences to outline their faith. It's a part of most church services. The word itself has Latin roots – it's derived from _'credo' – 'I believe'."_

"Like a spell?" Draco looked positively spooked now. "But – but they are _Muggles!"_

Luna blinked her eyes wide with fascination. Ginny's expression mirrored Draco's shocked confusion. Harry was frowning. Hermione almost choked on her butterbeer. Her eyes watered. "No, no, not a spell. Just … an expression of their religious faith. _Umm…_ I guess that maybe he was trying to convert you."

Her eyes met Harry's. His frown was turning into a grimace, and the corners of his mouth were twitching with suppressed laughter. Draco glared at them. "Well, it was really uncomfortable, you know? I had no idea what he wanted from me!"

"I'm sorry, Draco. I understand. That's really uncomfortable. And it's not polite. Even other Muggles don't like it if someone tries to corner them about what they believe. What kind of Muggles were they? I think Percy mentioned something about a Muggle delegation before? Something about how Kingsley saddled Umbridge with the nastiest job he could find for her?"

"I'm sure that was his intention. And she was certainly less than thrilled the last time they showed up. As to who they are –" Draco shrugged. "A delegation from the Church. When I –" He hesitated and mouthed _"searched her office"_, before he continued aloud, "I saw a Muggle style letter that said_ 'Congregation for the Doctor of Faith'_ or something similar."

Hermione inhaled sharply. _"The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith?"_

"Yes," Draco said. "That's it. Do you know anything about them?"

She bit down on her lip, all at once acutely aware of her heartbeat, too heavy, too fast. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. "Not … not much," she finally managed. This would be the perfect opportunity for Hannah to serve their chilli. But sadly the door to the kitchen remained closed. "You know I haven't really lived in the Muggle world since I was eleven," she replied. But her voice was just shrill enough with nerves to rouse Harry's suspicion.

"You know something, Hermione. Spill it," he ordered.

"I …" She squirmed under his scrutiny and the curious looks of the others.

"It's only history," she muttered at last. "Muggle history."

"Yes?" Harry prodded.

Hermione sighed. "The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith used to be called _'The Office of the Holy Inquisition'_ once upon a time, that's all."

"Merlin's merry bollocks," Draco gasped.

"Holy shite," Harry murmured and glanced at Draco. "No wonder you were creeped out by those guys!"

"And Kingsley makes Umbridge deal with them?" Ginny asked breathlessly, a hint of awe in her voice. "That's fair wicked."

**oooOooo**

When Hermione opened the door of the shop, an almost overwhelming sensation of déjà vu assailed her senses. That scent of beeswax and vervain … the feeling of exultation …

"You shouldn't have any reason to be back so soon," a reedy voice rasped out at her, rife with disapproval.

Hermione stopped dead, her fingers still curled around the door handle. Embarrassed she ducked her head. "Sir, no! That's not why I'm here. They are both in perfect shape. Here, I have them with me, polished and freshly oiled."

"You do?" Large, lunar eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you here then?"

Hermione took a deep breath and stepped into the shop, carefully closing the door behind her. "I have a question concerning wandlore. I was hoping you could help me."

"Hmm." Ollivander placed his hands on the top of his desk. "In perfect shape, you say? May I see them?"

"Of course." She was glad that she had anticipated this request. With a well-practiced motion she pulled first her right, then her left hand from its holder and laid them carefully on the desk in front of the wandmaker. Even after more than a year, her heart still soared at the knowledge that she was good enough, powerful enough to wield two wands.

"Vine and dragon heartstring," the old man whispered and bent over the wand, inspecting it closely, but not touching it. "And yew with a sphinx feather."

He peered at her wands for a long time. At last he drew back. "Well, Mrs. Snape, it is as you told me. They are in perfect condition. What can I do for you?"

Hermione stopped chewing on her lower lip and took a deep breath. "As I said, Mr. Ollivander, I have some questions about wandlore. I am sure you remember the special connection between the wands of Harry Potter and Voldemort?"

The wizard's thin old fingers gripped the edge of the desk convulsively. "Who could forget these wands."

"I've been wondering about connections between wands. What causes them, how to recognise them, their effects … and especially, if such connections could form a bridge not only between two wands, but between Life and Death."

"Is that an academic question or do you have specific wands in mind?" He was not looking at her, but at her wands.

She withstood the temptation of biting down on her lip again or heaving another sigh. "Specific wands," she admitted. "Yew with dragon heartstring and birch with sphinx feather."

"Ah," Ollivander sighed. "I see. – Would you care for a cup of tea, Mrs. Snape? There are no easy, and most of all no quick answers to the questions you're asking."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter refers to several previous chapters: chapter 22 for wandlore, chapters 132, 134 and 135 for history of magic.


	157. Vine to Yew, Yew to Birch

**Vine to Yew, Yew to Birch**

Ollivander disappeared for a moment. When he returned, a slender young woman accompanied him. "Genevieve is my grandniece. She will look after the shop while we are busy."

Genevieve, a young witch in elegant French robes, greeted Hermione with a wide, charming smile. Her wavy, ash blond hair and luminous grey eyes showed a distinct family likeness.

Then Hermione followed Ollivander through the dingy hallway. Blinking at the unexpected brightness, as they emerged into a well-lit room at the back of the house, she took in her surroundings with interest. Clearly, this room served various needs: there was a desk for paperwork, a table with chairs along with a hearth and a kitchen-cabinet for quick lunches, but also newly delivered raw materials that still needed to be dealt with, bundles of branches and stacks of boxes. Next to the corridor they had emerged from, two doors led off. On the opposite side of the room, a row of windows and a French door offered a view of a neat backyard with a spacious Apparition point and a small vegetable garden.

"Cellars, for storage, upstairs for the workshop," Ollivander explained when he noticed her curious glance. "Please, have a seat."

His wand was white and surprisingly delicate. A moment later a rose-adorned tea service was sitting on the table. But the tea the old wizard prepared by hand, in a chipped Brown Betty that sat waiting on the kitchen-cabinet, with boiling water from a black cast-iron kettle.

The tea was a Darjeeling, a pale golden First Flush with a delicate floral flavour.

"Wandlore has always been one of the most complex and mysterious areas of the magical arts," Ollivander remarked, gazing at Hermione over the rim of his teacup.

She nodded, waiting patiently for the old man to get back to her questions. She didn't have to wait long.

"Wandmaking is in some ways similar to alchemy. Affinity is one of the most important powers a wandmaker uses. The affinity of wood and core material, the affinity between wand and wielder, between wand and maker, and of course, the connection between two wands. Which may be based on the affinity between their woods, their cores – or their wielders.  
"In this case it may be impossible to decide which kind of affinity is most important.  
"Consider the mythical properties of their wood first: vine, yew, birch. Vine – fertility and resurrection. Yew – death and resurrection. Birch – renewal and purification."

"Vine to yew. Yew to birch," Ollivander said in a soft voice. "A connection between death and life resides within the very wood of your wands."

"And their cores," he went on, "I remember every wand I and my assistant ever made.  
"Each core of each wand has its own story to tell. And the origin of the dragon heartstrings in this particular pair of wands is very unusual indeed. They come from twins, a pair of Hebridean Blacks. Only the twin that gave her heartstring for your wand was not black. She was an albino, exceptionally small and delicate, white and pure. Her brother was one of the biggest Blacks I have ever seen, a very dark and volatile beast.  
"Cores made of dragon heartstring are favoured because of their reliable, versatile strength. But of course there's more to dragon heartstring than a foolproof, multi-purpose wand. A notable American scholar maintained that their true quality lay in uniting the powers of heaven and earth.  
"The other two wands were made by Genevieve. She is particularly adept with more unusual cores. These particular cores come from a Greek hierocosphinx from a flock in the Chalmos mountains near the Styx river of the Peloponnese peninsula. Sphinxes are known best for their wisdom and as magical watchdogs. Originally, however, sphinxes did not protect treasures. They were guardians of paths and ways." He put down his cup. Propping his elbows on the table, he intertwined his fingers, forming a bridge. "Sphinx and yew, sphinx and birch. Dragon and yew, dragon and vine. Rebirth and resurrection and the power to guard them. Fertility, healing and resurrection in a powerful union of heaven and earth.  
"And last but not least, the wielders of these wands are married." Ollivander rested his folded hands on the table and looked at Hermione with a solemn expression on his face. "It should be interesting to observe how the properties of wood and core affect each other in this particular combination. Have you noticed anything unusual wielding these wands?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I have. In one of my first practice sessions with the second wand it connected with my master's – my husband's wand. There was an incredible surge of energy and power that flowed through both of us."

"Fascinating," Ollivander mused. "I should like to see that."

"I could talk to my husband and ask him if he agrees to meet you for some experiments," Hermione offered.

"Both Genevieve and I would appreciate that very much," the wandmaker replied. "But I doubt that Professor Snape would welcome that suggestion. I am aware of the fact that he is a very private person."

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "that would depend on what else you can tell me. I am researching mythical connections between wands. One of my theories deals with the legend of the Deathly Hallows."

The wandmaker paled at hearing the Hallows mentioned. But Hermione ploughed on relentlessly, "I believe that the _'bridge' _across the River of Death mentioned in the legend was actually a special connection between wands that was used to draw back the Veil. I have done extensive research at Hogwarts and in the Flamel archives, but although some of Flamel's references are very promising, I haven't been able to find the sources. I was hoping that you could help me, sir."

"_Ah._ I am not surprised. For some of his essays Nicolas used manuscripts from my personal library. Documents that have been handed down in my family for centuries." Ollivander sighed. "Very well, Mrs. Snape. I shall help you."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter refers to several previous chapters: chapter 22 and 34 for wandlore, chapters 153 and 155 for Hermione's ideas concerning the Hallows.

My wandlore is based on various online and offline resources; I'll put up a post with links at my LiveJournal.

There are different kinds of sphinxes in mythology (just look "sphinx" up at Wikipedia). The one that Hermione's and Severus' wand-cores come from has a lion's body, a falcon's head and a falcon's wings.

Thank you for reading!


	158. Sempiternal Solution

**Sempiternal Solution**

"I think you might find the Pomet manuscript and the Device grimoire helpful," Ollivander said as he rose from his seat.

"Pomet?" Hermione asked. "But I'm already working with the Pomet manuscript – for my Charmed Potions work!"

Ollivander halted and smiled at her gently. "You only have access to the Hogwarts copy. I admit that it is a fair copy, sufficient for most scholarly purposes. But it isn't quite complete. _I_ own the original. I am sure you will find it enlightening, Madam. Especially the glosses."

Her cheeks burning, Hermione cleared her throat with an awkward _"Hrmpf."_

"If you will follow me, please? The documents you need are in the library upstairs."

**oooOooo**

To Hermione's delight, Ollivander's library was accessed via his upstairs workshop.

_'Orderly chaos'_ was the term that jumped to her mind, as she entered behind the wandmaker.

In front of two large windows a wooden table ran across the entire width of the room. It was equipped with all kinds of wand-making tools: knives, drills, chisels, saws, vices, sandpaper and whet-stones, awls and long, hooked needles. Floating shelves between the windows held various vials of varnish and oils, and jars with bees-wax. Old jam jars contained an assortment of brushes. From a pole under the tabletops pieces of polishing cloth dangled like nappies from a clothesline.  
In a corner stood a small lathe, and a narrow table with a variety of vices and three big tins of different kinds of glue.  
Two huge cabinets dominated the left side of the room. One held assorted tins, jars and boxes. Although their sizes varied, three shapes made up the majority of these supplies. The other was made up of many drawers, all of them labelled in a spidery handwriting with the names of woods, from acacia to yew.  
The air was rich with the scent of wood, varnish and wax, and the spicy taste of magic.

"The library is this way," Ollivander interrupted Hermione's open-mouthed reverie. The old wandmaker led her into a long, narrow room left of the workshop. The left and the right-hand wall were covered with shelves from the floor to the ceiling. At both ends a small window offered some natural light. Near the front window a fat wingback chair beckoned for cosy reading, while at the back a neat desk was very inviting indeed to her scholar's eyes.

Ollivander moved quickly and quietly among the shelves, taking down a volume here, plucking out a scroll there. A few moments later he left everything in a neat pile on the desk.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to take the manuscripts with you," Ollivander said. "They are too valuable. But you will find a new quick-copy quill in the drawer of the desk over there. Feel free to copy any passages that are relevant for your project. I'll be down in the shop if you need me. Genevieve will be in the workshop later. Take all the time you need."

**oooOooo**

_"What hath he in his hand? Ligh in leath wand. What hath he in his other hand? Heaven's doore key," _Hermione read.

The grimoire of Jennet Device, Wandmaker of Pendle Forest, was already an old source, written in the 17th century, completed shortly before the witch's hanging after trial by the Inquisition. But Jennet referred to yet another manuscript, a much older work from the 11th century, the original manuscript of one Joffrey Pomet, apothecary, maker of fine potions and Charms Master in Godric's Hollow. And quite possibly the person who had helped the Peverell brothers create their _'bridge' _over the River of Death.

_"Sempiternal Solution,"_ Hermione murmured into the quiet of the Ollivander's library. "A potion that enhances the powers of wands. It strengthens the inherent affinities of wands and allows them to share their power. Wands joint by this Charmed potion may form an endless connection."

She frowned at the parchment. _"' I am sure you will find it enlightening, Madam. Especially the glosses.'_ Enlightening indeed! I only wonder just how _'endless' _this connection is … "

Could _this_ be the answer to her question? Could a _potion_ possibly create a link between Life and Death that could keep the Veil itself parted?

She squinted her eyes at the crabbed writing and the list of ingredients.

"_Powdered horn of a hornless unicorn?!_ Is that a joke?" Annoyed, she forked her fingers through already dishevelled hair. Her heart pounded.

_What if it wasn't a joke?_

**oooOooo**

"I think I've got something," Hermione called out as soon as she burst through the door of their dungeon quarters.

"So do I," replied Severus calmly. His words stopped her just a foot inside the library. He had obviously been waiting for her, although the fireplace was cold, the neat stack of wood and kindling untouched, just like the snifter of brandy on the coffee table between the two wingback chairs.

"Oh." Hermione took in Severus' serious demeanour and the cold discomfort of the darkening library. "Do you want to go first?"

For a moment he looked at her in silence. It was difficult to make out any kind of expression in the stern contrasts of black and white that made up his face. Definitely sombre. But that mood fit these days to a nicety. What else was there? Regret?

Her stomach rolled. There was so much she wanted to say. But as he'd probably not appreciate one word of it, she clenched her teeth, remained silent and simply looked back at him.

"Vector and Trelawney have determined the most providential and auspicious date (whatever that may mean) for my – and Harry's – suicide mission. We shall endeavour to cross the Veil in the night between the 5th and 6th of January." His tone was soft, almost gentle, as she'd heard it only once before.

"I wish I could say _'Don't go'_," she whispered.

"And I wish I could reply with _'Then I'll stay'_. As it is …" He gave a minute shrug. "What did you want to tell me?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"What hath he in his hand? Ligh in leath wand. What hath he in his other hand? Heaven's doore key" _is a part of an English charm quoted in the documents of the Pendle witch trials. "Leath" may mean "lithe" and the whole sentence is assumed to refer to a wand with which to prop open a door. But I've not been able to discover what "ligh in" may mean.

Sources: "Narratives of Sorcery and Magic: From the Most Authentic Sources", By Thomas Wright, 1851; "English Folk Rhymes", By G. F. Northall, 1892.


	159. I wanted to tell you …

**I wanted to tell you … Or: Horn of a Hornless Unicorn**

_That I love you, of course. But I've done that already. Better yet, you've read that in my mind. So no matter what will happen, _that_ at least you'll take with you.  
But there's so much else.  
Small things. Sentimental things you wouldn't appreciate. That I love falling asleep in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and inhaling your scent (vetyver, bergamot, nutmeg, rosemary, cypress).  
Big things. How much I regret that you are right and this is not the right time for a child. Especially since now there may never _be_ a right time.  
Random things. The way you stir your tea. So methodical. As if it was a potion. Three times clockwise, three times widdershins._

Hermione realised that Severus was waiting for her answer. "I went to Ollivander for help. I think I've discovered something that may help us." She flicked her vine-wand, lighting the candles first, then the fire. "Here, I copied the relevant passages."

She handed him a sheaf of parchments.

At last he looked up. His expression was grim, the lines in his face harsh and cruel. "Pomet? Device?" he sneered. "Why don't you go and cross-reference Trelawney's favourite bed-time story, _'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter'?"_

But his hands were shaking, and that was really all Hermione needed to know.

**oooOooo**

"What's your quibble with that idea, Severus? It _could_ work," Minerva said sharply. "I thought you valued Ollivander's expertise."

Rage and fear flickered in Snape's eyes. He did _not_ appreciate the fact that Hermione had shared the information concerning the Sempiternal Solution. "Minerva, I am astounded that you are willing to spend even a moment of your precious time on this preposterous notion. _'Horn of hornless unicorns'?! _I ask you!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Severus, before she turned to the Headmistress.

"He's already solved that riddle, Minerva," she whispered. Hermione turned to her husband with a disarming smile. "I know why you cavil at this, love. But what other choice do we have?"

"I probably could think of one or two alternatives if I put my mind to it," he retorted sourly.

"I just bet you can, you sourpuss!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Severus! Please! Our wands – you and I _both_ know that they share a special affinity. All scholars agree about the special mythical and magical significance of yew. And then there are all the details that Ollivander told me about the cores of our wands. It's as if Fate WANTED us to have a chance!"

Following an impulse, she went to him and laid her hand on his. He stood, his arms crossed in front of his chest in his most forbidding manner. But to her that intimidating stance appeared strangely different today – it spoke of tension, of fear, of despair, of trying _oh so desperately_ not to fall apart … _Could it be like that for him, too? _she wondered. He had told her that he loved her – _in his way._ But could it be that he – _in his way_ – truly felt about her just the way _she_ felt about him?

She gazed at him. "There _is _an affinity between our wands. You know that and I know it, too. They are the right wands for this spell. The wood, the core – they already share a powerful connection.  
"If we manage to brew the Sempiternal Solution, all I have to do is go to a holy place, invoke the bridge and we can draw back the Veil with the connection between our wands. You can pass beyond and back unhindered. You can find the source of the leeching curse and break it.  
"And all will be well."

_"All will be well?"_ Severus asked snidely. "When did that happen the last time in real life."

"Well, it will never happen if _you_ don't give it a chance," Hermione huffed.

"Children –" started Minerva McGonagall. Then the older woman's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The headmistress cleared her throat before she looked first at Severus, then at Hermione. "Please. I – am aware that emotions are running high at the moment. And not without reason." Her eyes brightened with weary sympathy. "But we must not give up or give in. As long as there is hope, we must pursue it."

Minerva glanced at the still portrait on the other side of her desk.

Although Hermione still wasn't sure if she even _liked_ Albus Dumbledore, one thing was clear: the old wizard had never given up, no matter how bleak things might appear.

"Very well." Severus raised his hands in defeat. "I shall aid my apprentice to solve this riddle."

**oooOooo**

"Hooves!" Hermione groaned. "The keratinised structure surrounding the distal phalanx of the third digit of phytophagous mammals also known as _'horses'_. Horn! Now I feel stupid."

Severus smirked and drew her into his embrace. "I'm impressed with your vocabulary, though. Did you look that up?"

She grinned. "Plant-eating? No – I remembered that from a game I used to play with Harry and Ron. When I still tried to get them to improve _their _vocabulary."

"Didn't really help, hm?"

Hermione just smiled, too blissful in the arms of her contradictory husband to spoil the mood by an inharmonious comment. Besides, he _did_ have a point.

"You should be pleased, Severus: Harry shared your opinion," she murmured.

"He did?"

"Hmm. Said that he didn't understand how I put up with them in the first place."

"Be still my heart." Severus bent down to kiss her. "Harry Potter and I in complete agreement. Surely the end of the world is nigh."

"So we'll be able to brew it?"

The mirth bled from his eyes. "Yes," Severus said. "We _will_ brew the Sempiternal Solution. But you need to understand – it is but a fool's hope, not a _solution_, no matter what Pomet called his potion."

Hermione gazed at her husband earnestly.

"And if it is," she whispered. "Then I'd happily be the fool to brew it. If only for a bit of hope."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"__The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter" _is a most reverent textual allusion to the wonderful book _"Good Omens"_ by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. A wonderful book with one of the most wonderful endings I have ever read.

I can't help thinking that Pratchett and Gaiman must have read about the Pendle witch trials same as I did, researching the history of magic and witches. So when I decided to use poor Jennet Device for my story, I thought it would only be appropriate to include a reference to the most famous incarnation of the names Device and Nutter in modern popular culture.


	160. Coming Home for Christmas

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Coming Home for Christmas**

"I don't think this is a good time to spend Christmas away from Hogwarts."

"On the contrary, Severus." There was a hint of steel in Minerva's voice. Within the safety of his portrait frame, Phineas Nigellus took a step backwards. "I think it's the _perfect_ time to go away for Christmas," Minerva continued. "You have assured me yourself that brewing the Sempiternal Solution will take exactly three days, no more and no less. _I_ have been taking care of students for longer than you have been alive, so I can promise you that your Slytherins will be _quite_ safe with me while you are gone. Therefore you and Hermione will leave on the 22nd and you may return on the 2nd."

"And if I feel like staying here?" he asked mutinously. He hadn't cared for being manipulated and ordered around by Albus Dumbledore. And he most certainly didn't feel like allowing Minerva to walk all over him now.

The Headmistress fixed him with a beady-eyed stare. "Severus, you know very well that I have only your – and Hermione's – best interests in mind. As your friend, I ask you to consider spending a few days away from it all, before … you do what you have to do. Surely that can't be such an ordeal for a young couple such as you are? However, if you insist on being your usual obnoxious self, I also ask you to keep in mind that as the Headmistress I can _make_ you take a few days off. Whether you _'feel like it'_ or not."

Feeling thirteen all over again, Severus squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"I've sent Winky ahead to your home," Minerva added. "I'll come to see you off tomorrow, of course. Does five pm sound all right to you?"

Aware that he was outmanoeuvred and outgunned as well, Severus inclined his head in silent acquiescence.

Walking back to his dungeons, he wondered how in Merlin's and Nimue's names he was supposed to salvage the first and only Christmas his wife would share with him. He hadn't returned to Spinner's End since May 1999, and he rather doubted that even the magic of house-elves would be strong enough to make the place habitable again.

**oooOooo**

"Happy Christmas, Minerva," Hermione said. Her voice sounded a little choked because of all the things she wanted to say, but couldn't, not with her husband looming over her and looking so thoroughly disgruntled. Instead of talking, she opted for hug. To have a few days alone with Severus was the most precious gift anyone could have given her under the circumstances.

"Thank you," she whispered into the older woman's robes.

When they parted, the Headmistress dashed fiercely at her eyes. "Just the wind," Minerva muttered. "Don't mind me."

Then Minerva turned to Severus. Her lips moved, but no words would come. For a moment Hermione almost expected her to hug Severus. Judging from his expression of absolute discomfiture, he feared the same. But the Headmistress only extended her hand, and when he took it reluctantly, she covered his long fingers with her left.

"Happy Christmas, Severus."

**oooOooo**

When the dizzying, nauseating sensation of Side-Along-Apparition faded, Hermione was still wrapped into the embrace of her husband.

As a result she heard _and_ felt the terrified gasp their surroundings provoked in him. His arms tightened around her. She reacted instinctively to Severus' fear, stomach tightening, hands itching for the comforting touch of her wands.

"What's wrong?"

When he did not move or answer, she twisted around in his arms and … gaped.

After a few heartbeats of stunned silence she inhaled deeply and gave voice to her astonishment. "Didn't you warn me that Spinner's End is a dreary, deserted, dilapidated industrial area?"

He still held onto her tightly, so she could feel how he had to swallow heavily before he could answer. "I – Well –"

"When were you here the last time?"

"_Uh …_ May last year. Just a few days between when I was released from St. Mungo's and when Minerva came to take me back to Hogwarts." He scowled at her. "In time for you to begin your apprenticeship."

"Well," Hermione swallowed hard. She couldn't honestly say that she was sorry for that, because she wasn't, not at all. Instead she gazed around her, wide-eyed and fascinated. "I think things have _umm…_ kind of changed around here since you've been in the area for the last time."

She stared at the banner that was fluttering in the breeze above them: _"Celebrate the 'Greenest Corner of the City' Award 2000 with us!"_

"I – I – have really no idea what this is all about," Severus croaked.

She leant back into his embrace and tried to suppress the giggle that was bubbling up inside of her. But he was so attuned to her by now that she wasn't surprised when he stiffened. Hermione didn't even have to _see_ his frown. She felt it, in the way his body tensed behind her.

"What _do_ you know that I don't?" he asked suspiciously.

Her attempt to huff, take a deep breath and remain serious all at the same time failed miserably – and turned into a rather undignified cough. When she could talk again, she still had a hard time not to chuckle.

"Well, I don't _know_ anything," Hermione said. "But it looks like Spinner's End was the target of a successful project of sustainable urban development, recultivation and revitalisation."

"A what?"

"It looks as if the local authorities did some work on the area," Hermione explained patiently. "Rebuilding and restructuring, getting new people and businesses here, establishing a whole new flair for the neighbourhood. Has it changed a lot?"

He relaxed ever so slightly. "Changed a lot?" he muttered. "You could say that. I barely recognise the street."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I – I – I don't know. What kind of question is that?" He frowned at her.

"Why don't we find out together?" Hermione suggested. "Let's go and explore the new Spinner's End!"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	161. The Absurdity of Street Corners

**The Absurdity of Street Corners**

"Very well. Where do you suggest we start this … exploration?"

"Why not right here?"

They were standing at what had once been a shadowy street corner at the beginning of Spinner's End. Now it was not precisely shadowy anymore, but at least lost in the glittering lights of a giant – _Yule tree_, a sign informed them.

The tradition of Yule trees, the explanation continued, dated back to the Pagan patron trees of Germanic tribes, such as Yggdrasil or Thor's Oak. This particular tree had to be cut down in the course of regular forest management and was donated by the Forestry Commission. And they needn't have a bad conscience about its illumination either, because it was lit by energy saving lamps (donated as well, by the local electricity supplier).

_"At any street corner the absurdity of existence can strike a man in the face_," Severus murmured. "Albert Camus."

The wistfulness in his voice made her heart ache. She dared to press herself closer against him. The coarse fabric of his duffle coat lightly scratched her cheek and its smoky scent tickled her nose.

"Life's a bitch and then it has puppies," Hermione muttered. "If we make it out of this one, my efforts in life will be dedicated to achieving the most boring existence humanly – and magically – possible."

**oooOooo**

Together they turned to the house on the opposite corner.

With its newly sand-blasted bricks, windows and door trimmed with white paint, the Victorian iron-wrought fence intertwined with sprigs of holly it could have been an illustration of a nostalgic picture book. But it was a shop and the illuminated bay windows served as display windows.

Hermione and Severus noticed the hand-painted sign next to the door at the same time. Both of them gasped, Hermione with stifled laughter, Severus with shock.

_'Be-Witched,'_ the sign read, _'Wiccan and Pagan Supplies for Magick & Witchcraft. Est. in 1999.'_

"There is no wizards' shop in Spinner's End," Severus hissed, when her gasp turned into a giggle. "And I'd have heard if someone had opened one here!"

"Oh, Severus, that's not a wizards' shop. It's Muggle! An esoteric shop – you know, for Muggles who are trying to find magic in their world."

When he just stared at her, she couldn't suppress an amused snort. "Surely growing up in the wild Seventies you got some of that crowd even here! You know, magic mushrooms? Rock music? Changing the world? Sex, drugs, rock'n'roll and all that?"

"_Sharing_ mushrooms maybe, but not selling them!" Severus retorted, but he appeared to relax. "Actually, I never had money for drugs or rock music. A few pints in the pub was the wildest I got during my summer holidays. As for changing the world … all I ever wanted was to change my position in it. To get out of _here_, and at school to get out of the clutches of –" He stopped. "You know how well that turned out."

Hermione could taste the bitterness of his words. She linked her arm with his and leant against him. "You don't have to talk about it. But I would like to know how it was. Here. Then."

He stared at the display window in silence. Hermione followed his gaze and took in the strange mixture of Muggle and magical items. Real runes and real tarot cards, a big candle in the shape of a black cat, the statue of the Indian elephant god Ganesha, a pink dream catcher. Incense sticks and perfume oils. Celtic jewellery. Muggle books on witchcraft and self-improvement that made Hermione bite her tongue to keep from laughing, and another hand-painted sign with a rather pretty calligraphy of the words _'Blessed Be'_ on it.

"Come," she said at last and tugged a little at his arm to clarify that she wasn't about to insist on an uncomfortable conversation in the damp dusk of a December day. "Let's see what else has changed."

**oooOooo**

The house next door was now a Montessori nursery school.

"I'm not really convinced of that educational method," Hermione finished her rudimentary explanation, "at least not for older children. But I suppose it's nice for the little ones, especially if they are a special needs children."

Again she felt that keen stab of regret at the thought of how likely it was that she would never get to see what happened if you mixed the genes of a brilliant, temperamental Potions Master and a smart, slightly more easy-going, bushy-haired Potions apprentice.

**oooOooo**

"They've torn down the chimney," Severus observed, as they crossed the street again to take a look at the old mill. "That's definitely an improvement."

_'The Old Mill'_ as another sign informed them, was now an award-winning model-project for sustainable urban development and regeneration.

A busy shopping centre with stores and galleries took up the ground floor – Hermione noticed a small supermarket that advertised organic and regional products, an outlet centre for handmade woollens and a tiny _'Arts & Crafts Shoppe'_.

Offices on the first floor. The name tags showed a diverse mixture: the environmental agency of the city council, a solicitor, the local Greenpeace office and a dentist among others.

Flats above the offices. A poster praised the opportunity to save money _and_ the environment by doing without a car. The benefits: reduced fees on utilities and the public transport system. Another poster advertised time-sharing of cars _('Cut costs and reduce emissions'). _Hermione reflected how much better it was for the environment to be a witch. Flooing produced very little smoke, broomsticks relied on renewable resources, and Apparition was the most environmentally friendly mode of transportation imaginable.

"It looks really nice," Hermione commented. "I'll have to take a closer look at some of the shops." She noticed Severus' stiff posture, the way he kept flinching ever so slightly as people hurried past them. "Not now, don't worry. Why don't we go back outside? I think I've seen a little park on the other side of the street. It won't be as busy there."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **What Severus is misquoting is the quote "At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face." ascribed to Albert Camus. 

Many apologies to Aranel who had to suffer as a sounding board for this pair of chapters. Hugs - you are the best!


	162. Foxes and Swans at Spinner's End

**Foxes and Swans at Spinner's End  
**

In the deepening dusk the park looked dreary, the trees bare, the bushes cut back. But in summer it would be nice, with just enough lawn for picnics. And the nearby stream smelled fresh and clean.

In the middle of the park was a fountain. A reluctant Severus in tow, Hermione circled it.

"Normally I don't really like modern art," she admitted finally. "Most of the time I have no clue what to make of it. But this is quite nice."

_'It'_ was made of metal in a warm, muted coppery colour. Something that looked like an angel with a bush on its head was bending over a large wheel and kissing it. A second, much smaller statue lived on the edge of the basin. This one was positively cute: it was a fox, its distinctive fluffy tail curled slightly as it bent down to lap up some water.

Next to the fox, a copper plate inserted in the edge of the basin explained the monument.

"It's supposed to commemorate the _'victims of industrialization'_. The latest of which were inhabitants of houses that stood in this place and were destroyed in the explosion of a leaking gas pipeline. It was done by a local artist. _Umm…_ that angel is actually a dryad," Hermione said, squinting at the plate.

She felt, more than heard the choked inhalation next to her.

Her face prickled with apprehension, the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck standing on edge, as Severus' reaction registered with her. "That was not a gas leak, was it?"

He exhaled heavily. "No," he replied very softly. "It wasn't."

He drew another deep breath. "Death Eaters. After the final battle. They didn't like it when they found out about my true allegiance."

**oooOooo**

It was love at first sight.

Certainly aided and abetted by the efforts of the house-elves. But still. Hermione fell in love with Severus' tiny house in Spinner's End the very first moment when its hazy contours – hidden behind multiple wards – solidified into the chopped-off remnant of an ancient row of brick houses. Complete with its towel-sized front garden, Victorian style iron-wrought fence, bay windows, old-fashioned door knocker and cast-iron boot scraper in its niche in the wall.

When they entered the little house and the very first room was filled with books, from the floor to the ceiling, all four walls, with the exception of the windows and the fireplace and the door, of course, she was head over heels. When she discovered the black and white chequered kitchen with the old cast-iron Aga cooker, she squealed. When she sighed reverently over the ball-and-claw feet of the bath tub on the first floor, she caught how Severus just shook his head in a bemused fashion.

**oooOooo**

When he exasperatedly pointed out the bad insulation, the dismal condition of the old-fashioned utilities, and the small size of the two bedrooms, one tinier than the other, she had the nerve to shrug and call them _"darling"._

**oooOooo**

"Oh, look! There's _'Swan Lake'_ for Sunday's matinee!"

Later he could never reconstruct what had prompted him to say _'yes'_.

**oooOooo**

Of course he knew the tale staged in the ballet. The dream of true love. The motifs of transformation, purification and regeneration. He also knew the music. He was an educated man; of course he knew Tchaikovsky. Lucius Malfoy had even seen it fit to invite him to Muggle London once to enjoy it on stage.

But he had never before experienced it with Hermione next to him, her hand searching his, her eyes riveted on the dancers, her lips parted in a sigh as she gazed upon the stage …

Suddenly he did not want to die.

He wanted to _live._

He wanted to live, and every single Christmas he would share with Hermione, he wanted to find a Sunday's matinee somewhere, to drink in the beauty of this music and this dance, and her sighs, and her smiles, and …

**oooOooo**

... later, to scrub her back in that ridiculous bath tub.

**oooOooo**

She loved the music. Loved it. It was on one of the first LPs her parents had given her. If she remembered correctly it had been a gift of the elusive Easter bunny when she was three or four. She'd been searching for the promised bounty frantically, but she just couldn't find it. On the verge of tears, she'd finally looked up. She still didn't know why. Maybe an amused cough of her parents had alerted her? Whatever the reason, she'd looked up. And on top of the sideboard – high above her head at the time – had been an LP of Swan Lake.

Yes, that _was_ what a couple of British dentists regarded as an appropriate gift from the Easter bunny to their little daughter.

Hermione didn't mind. She just loved the music. And when she was old enough, her mother had taken her to London to see it on stage.

But nothing could have prepared her for how she felt seeing the ballet with her husband at her side.

Granted, it was not London quality. The choreography was traditional, the music not as inspired as it could have been. But there was Severus next to her, and once she even dared to reach for his hand …

"I think I really like the oboes and the harps best," she whispered. "The oboes are so sonorous and sad, and the harps so light and dreamy."

**oooOooo**

During the intermission they talked about swans.

"Did you know that swans mate for life?" Hermione asked. "And swans of the Northern Hemisphere are white, but in Australia there are black swans."

He nodded, but didn't comment.

"And did you know that there are legends about swans in most cultures?" she went on. "In the Finnish _'Kalevala'_ there's a swan living in the River of Death. And Hinduism ascribes to swans the power to travel between spiritual worlds." She smiled sadly. "If only that were true. I would have asked for a swan for Christmas."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Some great stuff on "Swan Lake" may be found at www DOT rohedswanlake DOT org DOT uk

Chapters 20 and 24 deal with Spinner's End before the neighbourhood underwent the revitalisation and regeneration programme of the Muggle authorities and before Hogwarts house-elves cleaned up the house at Minerva's command.

The Aga stove was probably a wedding gift from the Prince family. For me, as a non-British, European citizen, and cooking freak, Aga stoves simply sound and look like magic.


	163. Under the Mistletoe

**Under the Mistletoe**

"HOUSE-ELF!" Severus roared, staring at the room in disbelief. "What have you _done?"_

"Oh my _God,"_ Hermione breathed. "A Christmas tree with _real_ candles. And garlands of holly around the mantel piece. And Christmas stockings! Look, one is green and silver and the other golden and red!" She had the nerve to giggle. "And – _oh, Severus!_ Look, up there! Mistletoe! Now you have to kiss me!"

He looked down at the young woman, the way she peered around him at his dingy living room full of delight, her brown eyes glowing, her cheeks still red from the cold wind, her curls accordingly in utter turmoil … Somehow his left hand found its way to her back, the fingers of his right stroked gently over her cheek, trailed down to that stubborn chin, tilted it upwards …

He found her lips were soft and warm and welcoming.

For a moment both of them relaxed into that quiet touch of mouth meeting mouth. Then he pressed closer against her and began to stroke his lips against hers, teased her lips with his tongue – only to be welcomed all over again. Her hands went around his neck, eagerly drawing him closer. When she opened her mouth for him, her own tongue eager to meet his, teasing, twining, he did not need _Legilimency_ to feel her hunger as his own.

When they broke apart, breathing heavily, even more flushed than before, Severus could barely remember why he had summoned the house-elf that was trying very hard to act as if she was nothing but another piece of furniture inside the living room.

"Master Professor Snape has summoned Winky, sir?"

Hermione smiled. Happiness sparked a warm, amber glow in her brown eyes. She knelt down in front of the house-elf and solemnly extended her hand to Winky.

"Thank you very much, Winky," she said softly. "This very beautiful."

The diminutive elf stared at Hermione suspiciously, and Severus recalled his wife's teenaged efforts of her _'freedom for house-elves campaign'_.

"You is not giving Winky clothes, is you?" the elf asked. Then she screwed up her face. Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks. "I forgets," Winky whispered. "You_ can't_ give Winky clothes. Winky is a _lost_ elf. Wi– wi– without a ho–home. A–a–and without a fa–family."

Hermione raised her head and met his gaze. He could see the question in her eyes.

"I thought you wanted to liberate all house-elves," he said grumpily.

She sighed, and the warmth faded from her eyes. "I – did. I still do. Or at least to see them treated well. And with respect. But … I know how it is to lose a family now." He knew she was not just talking about her parents. "And I –" she huffed a little and rolled her eyes at him. "I guess I have to admit that I didn't really have all my facts straight when I started SPEW."

Hermione looked back at Winky who was waiting patiently for their temporary masters to decide what they wanted from her. Severus felt uncomfortably reminded of an abandoned puppy that didn't know whether to expect beatings or treats.

"How does it work?" Hermione asked in a low voice. "Do you know? Would Minerva mind?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't. It's not a situation that occurs very often." Then he sighed, giving in to the inevitable. _Actually,_ he thought, _that idea is not all that bad. Then someone would be around to take care of Hermione if I don't –_

"Minerva won't mind. There are hundreds of Hogwarts house-elves and Winky isn't really a Hogwarts elf to begin with." He turned his attention to the creature before of him.

"Winky," he asked kindly. "How do house-elves acquire a new house and a new family?"

Winky's eyes widened. "Need," she chirped. "Need there must be. By house and family. And oath there must be. Wizard oath and house-elf oath."

Severus raised his eyebrows. He hadn't expected that adopting a house-elf involved that much ceremony and circumstance. "Winky – do you think that this house and this family is in need of a house-elf?"

That got the elf's attention. Winky straightened up, power sizzled around her. She cocked her head, brown eyes narrowing as she appeared to listen to something. He felt the idiotic urge to mimic the gesture so he might hear whatever Winky was listening to. "Yes," the house-elf hummed. "Is need. Terrible need. Not enough magic here for this being a wizard-home," she said reproachfully, glaring at him.

"I –" _He would be damned if he apologized for the condition of this house to an elf!_

The house-elf's ears twitched as she regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes," she chirruped and her eyes were huge and soft and sad as she gazed up at him. "Big, big need. You give me your oath, I give you mine," she squeaked forcefully. "And no clothes. Not ever."

It was satisfying to see how Hermione gaped at Winky, dumbstruck at the little elf's determination.

Severus awkwardly cleared his throat. "No clothes," he promised. "Never, as long as we both shall life." _Which might not be all that long where I am concerned,_ he amended silently. "However," Severus added. "How do you feel about agreeing to a pay of _uh…_ two Galleons a week? And a day off every fortnight? Just to indulge my wife. I think you know how … _concerned _about Elfish welfare she is."

The elf growled at that suggestion. But apparently it was not a deal-breaker. The bat-like ears kept twitching, the nose that looked remarkably similar to a tomato in shape and colour wrinkled thoughtfully. At last Winky sighed and rolled her eyes. "If it makes Mistress happy, Winky is happy. Very well. Winky will be house-elf to the grand House of Snape and serve Master Professor Sir and –" She sniffed. "Mistress Apprentice Madam."

Then she looked expectantly at him. "Master Professor Sir? You take oath first."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Canon doesn't really say how house-elf servitude works. I read an interesting comparison to medieval serfdom somewhere that really stuck with me - allegiance to the house as well as to the master. And of course a bit of magic mixed in.


	164. Happy Christmas!

**Happy Christmas!**

Hermione stared at Severus, her face hot and cold with anger, her stomach quivering with fury. She wondered if this was how volcanoes felt when they are about to erupt. Severus didn't look very happy with his presents either. His eyes were smouldering at her like burning embers over the rectangular objects on his side of the coffee table. She could tell that he was angry, but she didn't care. She brandished the scroll like a club.

"How dare you," she bit out, "how dare you?" Tears of helpless rage filled her eyes and she didn't wait for his reply. "How is it possible that you're convinced you can save the world all the time?" she asked, her voice growing shriller with each word, "That _you_ can play double, no, quadruple agent between Voldemort and Dumbledore long enough for Harry to defeat the bastard? And now, that _you_ can go beyond the Veil to put an end to that damn leeching curse? And at the same FUCKING time, you're not only convinced that this will cost you your LIFE, you don't even seem CARE whether you live or die! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? What the hell is WRONG with you? And now this! You're giving me this HOUSE for Christmas? That's absurd! If you really think you can save the world, why can't you hang on to a little bit of hope for yourself?"

"And what about you?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "If I have _reason_ to think that I will not live to see my next birthday, do you honestly believe that it's in good taste to give me a stack of _calendars_ for Christmas? To remind me of all that I will lose? The warmth of–" He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. Suddenly the anger appeared to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped. He stared at the beautiful leather-bound diary in his hands. "Your warmth," he murmured. "More precious than the warmth of any summer's day."

He inhaled and looked at her with that bleak, black gaze. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? I – you _know_ that I have to do this. And besides, it's not only my life that's on the line, it's Harry's just as much, and – if we fail – yours and Alina's, and that of every other wizard and witch with Muggle blood in Britain. Damn it, Hermione, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Because I love you."

Romance novels were full of similes of heroines who felt broken-hearted. But those descriptions didn't really do the experience justice. Hermione felt … _shattered_. As if someone had driven a stake right through her middle, as if she was coming apart at the seams. But she could only sit there unmoving, the parchment that only needed her signature in the presence of the local notary on the conveniently scheduled appointment on Wednesday morning in her hands, the silence ringing in her ears.

"For what it's worth," Severus murmured after a while, "I do _not _want to die. There were times when I did. _You know that._ But now …" He shook his head, lank hair swirling around his jaws.

She stared at him. Those black eyes. And unless you were just a few inches away from his face, they _were _black. That fine black hair that kept clinging together like barbs of a feather. That proud hooked nose that for some inconceivable reason was such an _expressive_ part of his face. Just like his eyebrows. They could smirk, and sneer, and question, affect surprise or glower evilly … as if they wanted to distract from those thin, sensitive lips that could – at times – betray how he _really_ felt.

_He's beautiful,_ she thought. _And brilliant and brave. _He glowered at her, though regretfully now rather than angrily. _And ugly._ She felt a wry grin curl her mouth. _As well as difficult and domineering._

"Let's go to bed." She laughed at his wild-eyed look. "There's nothing we can do," she explained softly. _I'm not giving up, _she thought obstinately. _It's just a strategic retreat from …_ She closed her eyes for second. _The world and all the rest. _"What will be, will be." She paused and took a deep breath. "I always hated that song," she muttered and was gratified to see the corners of his lips twitch with a smirk. "If there's nothing we can do," Hermione repeated, "I'd much prefer to do _nothing_ in a way that allows me to do that … _nothing_ in a way that … makes me feel …" Heat crept into her cheeks. "Good. And …" She swallowed. "Close to you."

**oooOooo**

"Don't," Hermione pleaded when Severus was about to slide out of her body. "Please. I – I'd like to feel you just a little longer. _Please."_

With a sigh he adjusted his position and remained where he was, smothering her with the pleasant heaviness of his weight, piercing her – no longer fiercely and demanding, but so she could still feel his presence within her, like an anchor. She wound her arms and legs around him, tears mingling with sweat at the corners of her eyes. For a few precious moments she could believe that nothing in the world would ever be able to separate them.

"I could fall asleep like that," she murmured.

"Perhaps you could. But _I_ can't."

Disregarding her mournful sigh, he withdrew from her and rolled over to lie next to her. But he did gather her in his arms and held her close. Hermione was about to doze off, when she heard the sounds for the first time. A distant scrabbling somewhere above her. She frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" He yawned.

"I don't know … some kind of scratching. Up in the attic?"

He shrugged and tightened his hold on her. "Maybe Winky?"

"But she's got the chamber next to the kitchen! Are there rats here?"

"Not anymore!" Severus retorted fiercely. "And now go to sleep."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Severus gave Hermione the legal documents concerning the ownership of Spinner's End, ready for signature, complete with an appointment with the notary. Hermione gave Severus several calendars - one with beautiful pictures of potions ingredients and wisdoms of lore and alchemy that appear and fade again, one for his job with all kinds of nifty magical details to help him keep track of classes, students, their essays and grades, and a personal diary. All made out for the year 2001.


	165. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream … Alone

**To Sleep, Perchance to Dream ...**

* * *

This is an **extra **chapter and it is only posted at my blog in "The Apprentice and the Necromancer, Part 17 - To Sleep, Perchance to Dream ...".

The link to my blog can be found on my profile page. At my blog the link to "Apprentice" is in the left-hand sidebar.

**W****arning!** **Rating M/R!** This chapter is not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 because of strong but non-graphic adult content. Please access it only if it is legal for you to read such content in your place of residence.

* * *

**oooOooo **

**… Alone**

The tears came while she was dreaming, although it wasn't much of a dream. She was walking through a landscape of dull white clouds. That was all. There were no monsters, no Death Eaters, no snakes and no screams.

She was alone in the fog.

That was all.

**oooOooo**

"Hermione," a warm voice murmured into her ear. "Hermione, wake up! It's just a dream. Shhh, wake up."

Gentle fingers stroked over her cheeks and she blinked her eyes open. Severus' hand curled around her jaw, his fingertips tenderly smoothing away the wetness of her tears. His eyes were bright. For once she could glimpse a subtle difference between iris and pupil. His hair clung to his skull, sleek and dishevelled. The dark stubble of beard smudged his pale skin.

"It was just a dream," he repeated. His hand drifted over her face, down to her chin. His thumb rubbed softly over her lower lip.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm awake now."

"Good." Wrapping an arm around her, he lay back and drew her closer to his body, until she was curled up in the crook of his arm. His other hand wandered back to her, tracing the outline of her face, playing with her curls. "What was the dream about?"

Hermione frowned and squinted her eyes. Then she shook her head a little, a movement that allowed her to draw her cheek over his chest and inhale the warm scent of his body. "I'm not sure. It wasn't even a nightmare. Not really."

"But you were crying."

She buried her face in the soft fabric of his nightshirt. "I was alone in that dream."

Severus tightened his hold on her. She could feel his sigh. It flowed through his body, his arms, right into her.

"One way or another," he promised. "I will come back."

**oooOooo**

She didn't say how that wasn't enough for her.

**oooOooo**

"How was it to grow up here?" Hermione asked. "You know almost everything there is to know about me. But even though we've been married for months, I don't really know all that much about you. Except for the things we rehearsed for the trial. And that was a bit … technical. Like swotting for an exam."

From the corner of her eye she saw his thin lips twitch into a grin. "Hermione, the professional bookworm of Hogwarts, complaining about an exam situation?"

Another sigh. His hand abandoned her curls and he laid his forearm over his brows, shielding his eyes. She bit down on her lip, exasperated at herself for destroying the mellow mood of the morning. "I'm sorry, Severus. I … from the memories you gave Harry – I guess that is not a particularly pleasant topic for you. I shouldn't have asked."

"Hmpf." The arm moved and Severus irritably smoothed his hair away from his face. "No. You're right, I don't like to talk about … my childhood. My life." She propped herself up on an elbow in time to see a wry smile tug at his mouth. "Me." He regarded her calmly, his eyes completely black again and inscrutable. Again his hand came up to stroke her curls. "But you have the right to ask me unpleasant questions. And Lois insists that it would do me good to talk about my past."

"It's a Muggle thing," Hermione explained. "Psychologists believe that getting things off your mind helps."

"Not only psychologists," he commented, hooking his index-finger through a particularly long and tangled corkscrew-curl. "The Church, too. That's how Confession works."

"Abbé Rigaud."

"Hmmm."

Hermione shifted until she lay next to Severus. She knew that he preferred to have lots of personal space to think. But this morning he surprised her by drawing her back into his embrace.

"Well, you already know that my mother was a witch and my father a Muggle."

"_And_ that your mother's mother was a Muggle, too."

"You remember that?" He sounded surprised.

She nodded, rubbing her nose against him.

"No tickling!"

She grinned. "You told me on our wedding day. When we talked about the symbolism of the flowers. Is that book still here?"

"It should be." He took a deep breath. "Well. As I said, my mother's mother, Abigayle Foster, was a Muggle. The illegitimate daughter of the factory-manager. Apparently he had a soft spot for her as she was his only daughter, born late in his life. An old man's folly."

Hearing the self-deprecating smirk in Severus' words, Hermione raised her head and frowned at her husband. "_You_ aren't old."

"Almost twenty years older than you are, little one." He had the nerve to tap the tip of her nose with his index-finger. "Among Muggles that's enough to make me a fool."

"We're not Muggles," Hermione protested. "And besides, it was my idea."

"Indeed. – Fool or not, at least my great-grandfather took care of Abigayle as far as it was possible in those days. Eventually, she married – as you may have guessed – a wizard. However, she died giving birth to my mother. And her husband soon followed her.  
"My great-grandfather tried to do right by his granddaughter. He must have known that his daughter's husband was a wizard. He may even have suspected that Eileen would be a witch, too. Maybe there was some manifestation of magic at her birth. Traumatic events can cause such things even that early in life.  
"As my mother's Muggle grandmother had also died, my great-grandfather asked the parents of my mother's father to move here. Being wizards, they were still healthy and hale at their advanced age. They were given a small house on the grounds of the mill. Officially, my grandfather's father was employed as caretaker. But the point was to provide a home and parents for my mother."

"And your father?"

"He worked at the mill." Severus stiffened, relaxed again. Obviously, his father was a difficult topic for him. "He was a smart man. I'm still not sure if he was too smart or not smart enough in the end."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of chapter, is of course, a quote from Shakespeare's "Hamlet".

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	166. Debris of Forgotten Years

**Debris of Forgotten Years**

"He figured out that my mother was a witch, you see."

"Then he didn't mind that she was a witch?" Somehow, from the bits and pieces of Severus' memories that were publicly displayed, she'd assumed …

"Yes and no. He was raised a strict Protestant and I believe that in spite of loving my mother, he never stopped thinking that magic is … _evil_. He definitely didn't approve of _'foolish wand waving'_. Magic should be reserved for _'important things'_, he always said. Not be squandered on personal comfort.  
"He didn't like the magical adaptations made in the house – enlarging the rooms on the inside, putting in the Aga, the bathroom. But all of that were gifts from my great-grandparents. He couldn't refuse them."

"So they did love each other, your parents?"

"I think so. Once, at least." Severus absentmindedly trailed his index-finger over his lips. "My mother's grandparents were poor, but kind. Or at least that's how I remember them. I don't think they'd have forced her to marry someone she didn't love."

Hermione sat up. When she took Severus' hand and drew it towards her, he didn't protest, but linked his fingers with hers. "What went wrong?" she asked.

"Perceptive as ever." For a while he was silent. "Nothing. Everything."

Suddenly Hermione thought that she heard some kind of strange scratching noises from above the bedroom again. But before she could say anything, Severus went on speaking and she didn't dare to interrupt him.

"When it came to those _'important things'_, it turned out that magic was not enough. And _that_ in turn, was more than enough to destroy whatever there was between my parents." He sighed. "Magic wasn't enough to keep the ramshackle machinery of the mill from falling apart. It wasn't enough to save the life of my father's best mate when a belt snapped and threw him against a carding machine. Magic didn't keep the mill from bankruptcy and it didn't provide a new job for my father. Or enough beer to drown his discontent. And last but not least, it didn't keep my mother from dying of cancer while I was away at school."

"I'm sorry." She thought of her own parents, of the easy harmony that had always existed between them, of her comparatively carefree childhood.

"Don't be," Severus told her in a gruff voice. "I may not have had a happy childhood, but it was not as bad as it could have been. Growing up in Spinner's End I was quite aware of how much _worse_ family life could be. And for a few years I had my great-grandparents and their house. My very own magical kingdom." A wistful smile softened his features. "I used to dress up as a wizard. I had an old black coat, a hand-me-down from my father. I thought it looked like a robe. In truth it was only huge and shabby. And …" He shook his head. "I think originally it must have been some kind of frilly Victorian blouse. But it reminded me of my great-grandfather's dressrobes, right down to that dusty smell of lavender." He raised an amused eyebrow at Hermione. "His dressrobes looked very much like the monstrosity Weasley wore for the ball of the Triwizard Tournament.  
"But I loved them all the same."

"You remember that?" Hermione goggled.

"Of course." Severus smirked. "Including your dress and–" She fidgeted, discomfited.

"Hush, don't worry." He raised his hand and stroked back a lock of her hair. "I was charged with watching out for Po– for Harry. So by default I ended up keeping an eye on all _three_ of you."

"Oh. Hmm." She sucked in her lower lip. Rolling her eyes at him, she added, "That only goes to show how much _more_ you know about _me_ than I do about _you_. No fair." But then she smiled. "So you liked dressing up as a wizard? That's cute."

Predictably, he grimaced at her choice of words. When something occurred to her, Hermione spoke without thinking: "Wait, wasn't that in the Memories? I think I remember a scene in which you were about nine, when you first met Lily …" She trailed off, her cheeks burning. The vein at his temple pulsed at a sudden surge of emotion and his expression hardened. Talking about Severus' past was walking through a minefield.

At last he simply nodded and replied, "Though that first meeting did not work out the way I'd planned it, the way I'd imagined it (but what in my life ever did?), it was still one of my happiest memories for a long time."

"What happened to your great-grandparents? And to your father?"

"What do you think happened?" he snapped, suddenly impatient. "They died. By the time I went to Hogwarts my great-grandparents were old even by wizard standards. They died during the winter of my Second Year. My mother died the summer between my Third and my Fourth Year at Hogwarts. My father … "

"What about your father?"

"Died in a nursing home in the summer before you started at Hogwarts. There – now you know all about my childhood. Are you happy now?"

"I –" Hermione frowned. "I – Why are you suddenly so angry?"

Severus rubbed his hands across his face. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position and scowled at Hermione. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I simply prefer not to remember my childhood. I haven't thought about it in a very long time. And I've never _talked_ about it before." He took a deep breath. "At first I was alone, the only wizard's child in an all Muggle neighbourhood – and then, at Hogwarts, I was quickly made aware just how pathetic my upbringing was."

"I'm sorry," she repeated softly.

A rapid scratching cut through the silence, followed by a muffled thump.

This time, Severus heard the noise, too.

Wand in hand, he catapulted from the bed. "Stay where you are!" he ordered and ran from the room.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the poem "Nothing is Lost" by Noel Coward, from the Writer's Almanac of January 15, 2008.

Canon says that Eileen Prince was a witch and Tobias Snape was a Muggle. Harry and the others assume in HBP that Eileen was a pureblood, but as far as I can see there is no proof for that in the books.


	167. No Roast for Luncheon – Poor Winky

**No Roast for Luncheon; Poor Winky **

Severus' footsteps pounded the rickety stairs that went up to the attic before Hermione had a chance to blink.

"Bloody hell," she swore, grabbed her wand and rolled from the bed. Barefoot, she sprinted up the creaking stairs, rushed through the door and bowled straight into Severus' back.

"I told you to stay where you are," he ground out. "At least keep back, for Merlin's sake."

Severus was pointing his wand to a large wooden crate in the middle of the floor. It had the Hogwarts seal attached to it. The smoky scent of myrrh and cinnamon wafted through the air. The box wobbled. Sounds of frantic scratching issued from within, followed by an indignant squawk.

Hermione remained behind Severus, but did her best to bend far enough around him to peer at the mysterious box. The writing that adorned the top was strangely familiar. She felt the overwhelming urge to rub her eyes in disbelief.

"Severus – the writing on the box … am I seeing things or is that Dumbledore's handwriting?"

Her words had a profound effect on her husband. The tension drained from him with a gasp and his wand-hand started shaking. Hermione bit down on her lips and stepped around him, her eyes focused on the crate, her wand aimed and at the ready. Just because she thought that she recognised the writing on the box as Dumbledore's didn't mean that the box, or its contents, were harmless.

"I take it that this box wasn't here when you came up here the last time?" she asked calmly.

"You have an amazing talent for stating the obvious." He inhaled deeply. "Winky!" he called out.

An eager little POP! heralded the prompt arrival of the house-elf.

"Master Professor Sir?"

"Can you – can you tell me anything about this box over there?"

"Yes, Master Professor Sir. Of course, Master Professor Sir. Box of birch wood is made. Is long exactly one foot and eleven inches. Is wide same as long. Is high two feet and six point four inches. Is weighing …"

"Do you know anything about how it got here? Or what's in it?" Severus interrupted the house-elf's monologue.

"Master Professor Sir, Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor McGonagall, is asking house-elves to take care of Master Professor Sir's house. Professor McGonagall is asking Winky to take box to house. And to keep box safe for Master Professor Sir. Attic is being full of boxes. So Winky is putting box in attic. So it has company of other boxes, Master Professor Sir." The house-elf screwed up her small, wrinkly face. "But Winky is not sure if attic is safe for box now, Master Professor Sir. Winky has already needed to put out fire in box _three_ times." She scowled at the crate. Then she turned her large eyes up to Severus. "Is bad bird in box, Master Professor Sir. Very bad bird. Making nice box burn, Master. Maybe Winky could roast bird? Make nice luncheon. Then box would be safe."

Hermione's thoughts raced. A mysterious box? With Dumbledore's writing on it? And Winky wanted to serve a _bad bird_ as a roast for luncheon because it was setting fire to the nice box?

"But that's impossible," she gasped. "Fawkes is gone! He disappeared at the burial, Minerva said that he wouldn't come back –"

"Stand back," Severus said. "I'll open it."

"Just like that?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes, just like that. No, of course not, silly. Wand ready?"

"Yes, sir," she replied promptly and moved into the proper duelling stance, feet firmly planted, her wand pointed at the box.

She never heard the spell he used to open the box.

The box split at the seams and the front cover fell down with a solid thump. A cloud of grey smoke that smelled intensely of myrrh and cinnamon billowed from the inside, obscuring her sight. Her fingers tightened around her wand.

Severus must have used another silent spell to get rid of the smoke, because from one moment to the next, the smoke was gone, leaving the air clear and fresh, and their sight of the box unobscured.

On a nest that, as Hermione dimly recognised, was made up of cinnamon bark, spikenard and myrrh twigs, in the middle of the broken remains of a resinous looking, yellowish egg, sat a young bird of exquisite purple plumage. Its golden beak was rather too large for the size of its body. And it looked rather disgruntled, with the feathers distinctly ruffled.

Now it cocked its head to the side and gazed at them with luminous golden eyes.

_"Cheep?" _

"That's not Fawkes," Hermione managed.

"But it certainly looks like a phoenix," she added.

"I can see that myself," Severus snapped and stowed his wand in the wand-pocket of his pyjama bottoms. "Winky, I need a bowl with fresh herbs in the living room. Rosemary, thyme, parsley and such."

"Yes, Master Professor Sir." With a soft pop, the house-elf vanished.

Severus knelt down in front of the bird. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you broke the shell, little one," he murmured. His voice was curiously gentle, and for a second Hermione experienced a wholly irrational stab of jealousy.

"Cheep," the bird repeated and fluttered its wings.

Severus bent down and offered his forearm to the nestling. "Would you like to leave your nest?"

The young phoenix appeared to consider the question. Finally it fluffed up its feathers and awkwardly hopped forwards onto Severus' arm. With slow, careful movements, so he wouldn't unbalance the bird, Severus rocked back on his heels and rose to his feet. An expression of stunned disbelief on his face, he turned to Hermione. "Could you … search the box? If there's a note, a letter – something? I should take –" He narrowed his eyes at the plumage of the bird and the tell-tale blue feathers in its tail. "_Her_ down to the living room. She has to be very hungry."

**oooOooo**


	168. Defying Fortune's Spite

**Defying Fortune's Spite**

When Hermione entered the living room, the phoenix perched on a shiny mahogany stand, her head buried in a metal bowl filled with fragrant herbs. The room was silent except for the tinkling sounds of beak hitting bowl in swift, hungry pecks.

Severus sat in one of the shabby wingback chairs, watching the bird.

"Did you find anything?" he asked without turning.

"No," Hermione replied. "I'm sorry. There's nothing. Just the nest, bits of shell, a few down-feathers. And the writing on the box. _'To be delivered to Professor Severus Snape on Christmas Eve in the year 2000.' _It's definitely Professor Dumbledore's handwriting. But … I don't understand! _Why? How?"_

She sat down in the other chair, looking back and forth between the phoenix and her husband.

"An egg of the right age and timed warming charms, I assume," Severus said, his gaze still riveted on the bird.

"Of course," Hermione breathed.

He knew without looking how her nose wrinkled now and how her teeth bit down on her lower lip, tell-tale signs of Hermione cataloguing all she knew about phoenixes in her mind. She could probably see the relevant pages of _'The Secret Lives of Fantastic Beasts – Advanced Studies of Magical Creatures'_ by Newt Scamander in her mind just as clearly as if the book lay open on the table.

"The egg of a phoenix needs 1,461 days to mature," she began. "They hatch around Christmas. The breaking of the shell is actually triggered by winter solstice. But that date was close enough to Christmas for Christianity to appropriate the symbolism of birth and rebirth for its own purposes –"

"Hermione. I'm quite aware of the basic facts pertaining to the species. I don't need you to recite your NEWT textbooks."

"Oh. Sorry."

He winced at the sting of his words. She was only nervous.

"As for why –" His voice sounded scratchy. Before he could clear his throat, Hermione had already conjured a glass of water for him. Frowning, Severus accepted the glass and sipped. Lois would be pleased if she knew that he still kept up her regimen to reduce the stress on his vocal chords.

At last he put down the glass and forced himself to face Hermione.

Why was this so difficult? She knew him at his most vulnerable – naked, sheathed within her body. She knew his very heart, _damn it._

At the same time, he was forced to agree with her assessment of their situation, the way she had voiced it yesterday: _she didn't really know all that much about him_.

While he had always known many details of her life at Hogwarts (both irrelevant and important) – such as her school files (grades, awards and detentions; the exact date of her menarche) or such highs and lows of her adolescence as her flirt with Viktor Krum or her rather unique boggart – she had no such knowledge of him.

She knew at once too much (those _damn_ memories!) and too little of him. Yet … She _was _a Gryffindor. She made up for that lack of knowledge with brash curiosity and stubborn insistence. She was a woman. She balanced out what she didn't know with an almost uncanny perceptiveness. And she was his wife. She accepted him like no one ever had before. If he chose to remain silent, she would likely accept that, too.

But, he frowned, somehow that didn't seem right.

And this morning … talking to her, telling her about his childhood, had felt … less _awkward_ than he had feared. Almost comfortable.

He picked up the glass again and took another sip. Turning it around in his hands, he guessed that it had started life as a thimble. Small enough to carry around in a shirt-pocket, its material sturdy enough to withstand multiple transfigurations. She must have done something to the _'Aguamenti'_ spell, though. This water tasted like Evian, not like the rather tepid mess the spell normally produced.

"As for why," he repeated and raised his head to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes were warm and calm. She was waiting patiently for him to speak. Only the way she sat betrayed a certain tension – perched and poised, not curled up against the back like a relaxed kitten.

"I don't know," he went on, his voice soft, the effort it took him to keep calm and composed inaudible. "But I imagine it might be Dumbledore's way to answer a question I asked him once. At that time … he threw the question back into my face."

He swallowed painfully and looked into her eyes again, willing her to remember what she must have witnessed when his memories were displayed at the trial. He was not disappointed. Her breath hitched, her lips fluttered with a gasp.

"Your soul," she whispered and raised a shaking hand to her lips. At another time he would have felt humiliated by the tears shimmering in her eyes.

But as he found that he had to blink quickly himself to keep his burning eyes from betraying him, he let it go.

**oooOooo**

"You can tell Weasley that Miss Petrel can bring her jarvey. I trust that she has taught him to behave."

Hermione, who'd been about to Floo-call the Burrow, sat back on her heels and looked at Severus over her shoulder. "Alina has a jarvey? I didn't know that. Aren't only toads, cats and owls permitted as pets?"

"Which didn't keep Weasley from bringing a rat," Severus replied dryly. "Or Miss Petrel from acquiring an orphaned jarvey from Hagrid."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione muttered. Then: "But how do _you_ know about that?"

Severus smirked. "House-elves."

"House-elves?" She blinked once, twice – then an uncomfortable thought struck her. "The house-elves are _spying_ on the students?"

His lips twitched. "Sadly not _all_ house-elves. But the Slytherin house-elves most certainly do. I dare say it would have been easier to keep an eye on you and your dunderheaded friends if Minerva had agreed to adopt my methods …"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter is taken from a quote by Miguel de Cervantes: _"The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise."_

The information on phoenixes used in this chapter is based on JKR's "Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them", Jorge Luis Borge's "The Books of Imaginary Beings" and the website "The Medieval Bestiary".

The question that Dumbledore post-humously answered with sending Severus the egg of a phoenix is from chapter thirty-three of "The Deathly Hallows":

_"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"  
"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation," said Dumbledore. (...)_


	169. Boxing Day at Spinner's End

**Boxing Day at Spinner's End**

As a little kid, Boxing Day had always been Ron's favourite holiday. There were presents. There was good food and even shop-bought sweets. His older brothers were home for the hols.

But most of all, it was the day of the Boxing Day Quidditch matches. Much like the Muggle world with its football matches on Boxing Day, the wizarding world celebrated the day with sports events. For years he'd dreamt of being able to afford a ticket for a match of his favourite teams. The Chudley Cannons, of course. But he wouldn't say no to seeing the Wimbourne Wasps. Or Puddlemere United. Or … he felt his Adam's apple bob with dry-mouthed appreciation – the Holyhead Harpies. Not that there was anything wrong with walking over to Ottery St. Catchpole or Stoatsbutt-in-the-Wood and watch the local teams, of course. Quidditch was Quidditch, after all.

He stared at his freshly shaved face in the mirror and shook his head.

Today, on Boxing Day 2000, he had finally saved enough money to actually go see the Chudley Cannons. He actually had put aside enough money to invite his brothers and sister to accompany him. Of course _if_ he did that, nothing would be left of his savings. But the important thing was that his dream of the perfect Boxing Day _could_ come true.

So what the heck was he doing right now, getting ready to spend Boxing Day with his least favourite person on earth?

It just might have something to do with the fact that his two favourite women were currently ensconced in the second bathroom, primping for his least favourite person on earth who just happened to rank very high on the list of his women's list of their favourite persons on earth. And when had Hermione turned into merely his third favourite woman?

_And come to that …_ when had Snape stopped being his least favourite person on earth?

He scowled at his reflection.

"Really, dear, don't you think a smile is more appropriate for the merry season?" tuttuted the mirror.

**oooOooo**

Ron scowled at the Muggle photograph that Hermione had sent him so he could Apparate to Spinner's End safely. Then he smiled at the petite dark-haired woman in his arm and at the impish teenaged-girl twirling around his right hand.

"Stop that, Alina. Your mother will kill me if I splinch you. Snape will hex me. And who'll train with you for Quidditch try-outs next year if I'm a toad?"

**oooOooo**

"… and for Merlin's sake HANG ON to that damn jarvey!"

**oooOooo**

His first thought was: _Circe, is that house small. The _Burrow_ is bigger than that._

The bay windows had obviously been added as an after-thought, probably with magic. They didn't match the rest of the house. He'd never understand why you would want to put a fence around a _'front-garden'_ that was not even three feet wide. If there were more than two rooms upstairs, he'd be very much surprised.

So this was where Professor Snape had grown up? No wonder he was so … tetchy and … tight-arsed.

**oooOooo**

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!"

He stared at his best friend. He _knew_ he was staring at her, but he couldn't help himself. She was too thin. And what had she done with her hair? It looked like dark dandelion seed, lots of fluff on a fragile stem. But her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright … Then Snape appeared behind her, tall and gaunt, but with a bit of colour in his face and a gleam in his eyes.

Ron swallowed hard. Did they absolutely _have _to look quite that well-shagged at lunch on Boxing Day?

"Ron! Lois! Hello, Alina!"

"Mr. Weasley. Lois, thank you for coming. Miss Petrel. – Please, come in."

**oooOooo**

Ron glanced at Alina. The girl was staring at her surroundings with an expression of fascinated bliss. (Books. There were books everywhere; if he'd had any doubt that Hermione was happy here, one look at the living room had laid those worries to rest.)

For a bizarre second Ron wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose the way Snape always did. Why did his girl-friend's daughter have to worship the very ground where Snape walked?

Now the little jarvey on her arm had noticed Alina's distraction and was wiggling like mad, intent on his escape.

"Hang on to Cicero, you don't want to find him roasted on your plate later on," Ron hissed into Alina's ear. Alina looked up at him with a bashful, sheepish grin. Lois rolled her eyes at her daughter while she squeezed Ron's hand.

Ron, for his part, wondered why that particular moment made him feel so happy.

**oooOooo**

"That's a phoenix!" Alina squealed.

Though the bird on the wooden stand in front of the bay windows didn't look _quite_ like Fawkes, it was very definitely a phoenix. A young one – the beak was huge in comparison to the body, its feathers, especially on its head, stuck out every which way, distinctly dishevelled (a bit like Harry's hair, actually).

Lois' daughter inched closer to the bird. Her jarvey, momentarily forgotten, snuggled into the crook of her arm, a black, silky bit of fur.

_Just behave,_ Ron thought to the animal. _Just once, behave._

Bird and girl stared at each other. Big beak and ruffled feathers on one side. Huge eyes and the awkwardness and long legs of a first teenaged growth spurt on the other. For an eerie moment the baby phoenix and the young witch seemed not all that dissimilar.

"Awww," Alina breathed and extended a crooked index-finger to stroke the bird's beak. "You look just like Woodstock, don't you?"

The bird cocked its head and chirped twice. Even to Ron's uneducated ear these answering chirps sounded just like _'Woodstock'_.

"Woodstock?" Alina giggled.

And the phoenix chirped again. Twice. Alina laughed, delighted. But Ron had the misfortune of looking into Snape's direction just then.

_Oh Merlin, _he thought. _Please let that be a dream. Alina just named Snape's phoenix for Snoopy's yellow companion?_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Big thanks to Leany for helping me brainstorm for the perfect name for a female phoenix. I assume that comic book lore would be one of the things that Ron would have picked up from his Muggle-born friends.


	170. The Phoenix Hope

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**The Phoenix Hope**

"Woodstock?" Hermione asked tentatively.

_"Chirrup!"_ the phoenix replied with conviction.

"Oh dear," Lois said.

"Bloody hell." Ron gulped.

Then Snape glared at Alina. The girl stared at the wizard. The wizard stared at the girl. The phoenix remained completely unconcerned and nibbled on its herbs. And the wizard's wife? Hermione was choking with laughter.

**oooOooo**

"It's not a bad name," Hermione insisted later. "I always liked Snoopy. And besides: _Woodstock_ – make love, not war!" She winked suggestively at her husband.

_I'm not seeing this,_ Ron thought.

Snape shook his head, but his lips twitched slightly and his eyes glittered with silent promises.

_I really don't want to see this, _Ron thought

"If you say so," Snape replied evenly.

"Chirp," commented the phoenix.

And Ron just wanted to go home.

**oooOooo**

When they sat in the kitchen with beer, tea, sandwiches, cakes and scones, Ron felt … _weird._ At once way too comfortable and utterly discomfited. In his mind, Ron tried to justify was his ex-girlfriend cuddling his ex-potions-professor. Her husband. And there was the daughter of his _current_ girlfriend gazing up at his ex-potions-professor with adoration in her eyes.

_What the hell was he supposed to do about all of that?_

Except, of course, ask for another beer.

_We're all adults here except for Alina, _he continued to argue with himself_. As an adult, I can handle visiting Hermione and her husband on Boxing Day. I mean, she's still my best friend, and he _is _her husband. It's okay if I enjoy – I mean, naturally I don't enjoy spending the day with Snape. I'm only here because of Hermione and Lois, after all. But there's nothing wrong with enjoying a good discussion of Quidditch over a pint, right? Right._

That issue resolved, Ron leant back in his chair and dared to raise his glass towards Snape.

And that, of course, was the moment it happened. The little jarvey turned on its back in Alina's arms and tossed his golden toy into the air, happily burbling incomprehensible Latin insults.

"What's that thing Cicero's playing with?" Hermione asked.

"Just some kind of bauble," Alina replied sleepily. "Hagrid gave it to Cicero for Christmas. He found it in the burrow of the orphaned jarveys. You know how they are … always stealing anything that glitters. It's a golden ring without a stone. Cicero loves to play with it."

Snape jerked upright in his chair. "Miss Petrel – may I see that ring, please?"

Six years in Snape's dungeon had taught Ron at least to recognise the underlying tension in the man's smooth voice. Alina seemed to sense that something was amiss, too, because she handed over the ring without protest or question. Snape took it and examined it carefully from all sides. Hermione was watching her husband and Ron could see how she was growing more worried by the second.

"Severus," she whispered at last. "Please tell me that this isn't –"

Snape laid the ring on the table. Ron bent forwards. It was a man's ring, a broad band of gold and its stone must have been quite a hunk –

_Stone?_

"Yes," Snape replied. "That _is_ the ring that contained the Resurrection Stone."

**oooOooo**

"That doesn't have to mean anything," Harry said. "The stone was cracked; maybe it simply slipped out of the setting. It's very possible that it's still in the forest. Maybe even in that jarvey burrow."

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Do you really believe that, Harry?"

Harry's shoulders slumped and he wearily rubbed his scar. "No," he said at last. "I wish I could imagine that the only thing that happened to the stone was a centaur that inadvertently stepped on it and ground it deep into the forest soil. But I'm not that naïve. Magical items have the unfortunate tendency to be found. – I think we must assume now that they, whoever _they_ are, have the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand in their possession right now." He sighed. "At least I'm still the rightful Owner of the Elder Wand."

"Are you?" Hermione asked. "Are you really? Lost any Quidditch matches lately, Harry? Or a bet? Dumbledore wanted Severus to become the next Owner of the Elder Wand, and we all know how well that worked out."

The silence lengthened. The attendants of the impromptu Order meeting did their best not to look at Hermione or Harry or Snape – or really anywhere else besides their plates, goblets or fingernails. Winky happily bustled about between the Aga and the Charmed pantry.

Ron awkwardly cleared his throat. "So what happens now?"

"You go home and we –" Snape glanced at Hermione, who looked pale and scared, with darkening circles under her eyes. "– go to bed."

When Ron winced instinctively, Snape frowned.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said with surprisingly little venom in his voice. "There's nothing we _can_ do – except what we _are_ already doing: implement the plans we have made.

"We'll brew that Sempiternal Solution and hope that it will create a link between Hermione's wands and mine. We'll pass beyond the Veil and hope to find the source of that leeching curse and that we'll be able to break that curse. And, of course, we'll attend that New Year's party at the Burrow." Looking at Harry, he raised an eyebrow. "Unless you no longer insist on my presence, of course?"

"You wish, Severus. You're coming." Harry smirked, but the grin didn't reach his eyes.

**oooOooo**

Two hours later Severus held Hermione in his arms. She had fallen asleep quickly after a long, exhausting day. But he couldn't sleep. He lay in the darkness and listened to Hermione's breathing. His thoughts kept going back to what he'd told Weasley – and what he hadn't said.

_… and hope that we'll come back, back to the ones we love._

Severus sigh was barely audible. _Hope._ He had no experience with hope, or even with wanting to have hope. _How did one go about it?_ he wondered. _Where could he find hope in a thoroughly hopeless situation?_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers again to the quote by Miguel de Cervantes: _"The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise."_

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	171. Dragons, Badgers and Other Animals

**Dragons, Badgers and Other Animals**

Draco scowled at the parchment on his desk and wondered how the hell he had turned into an overachieving pen-pusher and part-time spy.

Then Draco flicked his wand at the scroll and filed it in one of the pigeonholes of the giant cupboard that took up most of the wall opposite his desk. _Then_ he glanced at his watch.

_"Shite!"_

He jumped up and grabbed his cloak. Hannah would kill him if he wasn't on time.

Still, he hesitated in front of the office of his boss. At five o'clock on New Year's Eve, the Ministry of Magic was almost deserted. Well, he supposed there were still house-elves around. And you never knew where and when an Unspeakable might turn up. And of course there were always Aurors on duty.

It would be the perfect opportunity to search the office one more time.

_Why am I so convinced that Umbridge has something to do with everything that has happened?_ he wondered. _Sure, she's a nasty bit of business. Especially her pink fetish. But since Severus' trial she hasn't really tried to do anything. Not even when she could have …_

He shook his head and hurried past thedoor. _Go get Hannah from the Leaky. Go home, get changed. Show up at the Burrow. And since when did a Malfoy spend New Year's with the Weasleys?_

The moment he stepped into the Floo, he caught sight of a figure hurrying towards the visitors' entrance from Muggle London.

_Umbridge? In the Ministry on New Year's Eve? Meeting a Muggle? He must have been mistaken._

**oooOooo**

"What?" Draco asked and glared at Hannah.

But his Hufflepuff lover was not easily intimidated. "You look dashing, dear," she said. "But … if you don't mind my asking …"

He refrained from pointing out that she would ask no matter if he minded or not.

"… what are you afraid of?"

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and preened slightly at the low whistle that issued from the mirror. But then he narrowed his eyes. In spite of the new spiky haircut, he still looked like his father in his dark-green satin dressrobes. Only younger.

"I …" He noticed that he clenched his teeth. Before the mirror could comment, he turned around to face Hannah. The imperturbable hospitality-apprentice leaned against the doorjamb. She was dressed in practical Muggle jeans, a tight top that he thoroughly appreciated, and blue robes that accentuated the cornflower-colour of her eyes.

He went to her and put his arms around her. "What is it about you," he asked, "that people simply want to lay out their lives before a bartender? Their greatest fears and most secret desires?"

Hannah rolled her eyes at him and remained silent.

He growled at her.  
She simply waited.  
He glared at her.

_It wasn't that he didn't want to answer her question. Well, he didn't want to. But he would. That – well, damn – she deserved an answer, if she asked him something._

"They'll like you better if you come without your armour," Hannah said at last. She slipped away from him and walked to their bed. A moment later she tossed him his favourite green sweater. "I like the cufflinks with those little serpents. And ordinary black robes, I think."

**oooOooo**

"Harry and Ginny!"

"The lovely couple!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Harry, my sister's really a lovely person. She deserves a good husband. So … marry her before she finds one?"  
"She'd have to start looking first."  
"She didn't moon over him for seven years. They are _destined_ for each other, you dolt. That's _romantic!"_

"All the best to you, my dears!"

"And what the hell has Potter done with his hands?"  
"OUCH! Did you absolutely have to step on my toes, Hannah? Couldn't you have simply said _'Shut up, you prat!'"_

**oooOooo**

"I do not like repeating questions," Severus said, frowning at Harry's brightly coloured hands. "But in this case I'll make an exception. What the _hell_ have you done with your hands?"

"Tattoos," Harry answered with a wild grin. He balled his hands to fists and aligned the knuckles in a threatening gesture, with the backs of his hands to the front. "The Ministry's efforts have helped me to develop a new appreciation for that art."

On his joint hands a badger growled, a serpent slithered, an eagle beat his wings and a lion reared up on his hind legs. Black letters swirled along the edges of his hands: _'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus'._

"Fuck, Potter – they _move!"_

"How … _juvenile,"_ Severus sneered. "Harry Potter decides to cut loose and what is the result? He gets a tattoo of the Hogwarts coat of arms on the backs of his hands. Sirius Black had more imagination than that!"

Draco noticed how Hermione shared his reaction: they both winced. But Hermione also put her hand on Severus' arm. On the other side of the table Ginny mimicked that gesture, snaking her hand around Harry's arm.

"Severus," Hermione murmured, leaning close to her cranky husband. "Really. Remember Harry's scars? I think _you_ of all people should understand if he doesn't want to spend his life with a _mark_ on the back of his hand."

"Mark?" Severus snorted, unconsciously rubbing his left arm. "A few scars. I'd hardly call that a mark."

"I would," Draco put in. He nodded an apology at Harry. "I wouldn't like to see curse-marks from Umbridge's special quill on my hand day in day out." He grinned at Harry. "Though I don't know that I'd want to be reminded of my old school every day either. Anyway, that's some excellent work you've got there. Must have hurt like hell, though."

Harry managed just the right kind of smile – slightly crooked and definitely bold. "Madame Dubois. I figured I should use the opportunity to have such a renowned wizarding artist around."

Ginny flushed and caressed the hands of her fiancé. And Severus Snape scowled into his goblet, his right hand still curled around his left forearm.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Harry's souvenir from serving detention with Umbridge were scars on the back of his hand that formed the words _'I must not tell lies'._


	172. Cave A Signatis

**Cave A Signatis**

Draco met Severus' gaze, his eyes wide open, one memory foremost in his mind, a horror a thousand times replayed during his sixth and seventh year at school, until it would never be forgotten.

… _he dreamt of waking, his left arm cradled in his right. The morning sun slanted through the window, hitting his flesh.  
Hitting the black outline of a tattoo._

But his memory went beyond the dream to when he'd woken. To when he lay, curled around his arm, all muscles tense and hurting, his eyes squeezed shut over the tears of a fucking weakling. And beyond that, to numerous occasions throughout the day, when he wanted to draw up his sleeve, just to make sure that there was nothing there. No black lines. No tattoo. No skull. Just white, unmarked, pure skin.

It was the first time that his former Head of House looked away first.

**oooOooo**

"Don't worry, Draco," Luna Lovegood said in a reassuring way, while she smiled fondly at her boyfriend who was chatting with Charlie Weasley over at the punch bowl. "There are no bloodpurfles in Europe."

Finally Draco managed to tear his gaze away from his arm. "Thanks, Looney," he mumbled. "I think I'll go find Hannah. I – It'll be midnight soon."

**oooOooo**

Suddenly it was time for that stupid Charm of a song.

Draco had stopped believing in that Charm as soon as he'd found out that it was a custom the wizarding world shared with the Muggle world. (How could it be magic, if Muggles were doing it, too?) So how come that he was standing here now, hand in hand with Harry (Harry of all people!) and Hannah? And he caught himself_ smiling_ at Hermione.

_But that was just because of her ridiculous new hairdo,_ he reassured himself. _It was impossible not to smile at someone who looked like an overgrown dandelion seed._

**oooOooo**

He had no explanation why he also smiled at Percy.

**oooOooo**

But he did scowl at Ron.

**oooOooo**

_"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind ?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
and auld lang syne?"_

Draco wasn't sure whose singing voice was worse: Molly's inebriated screeching, Ron's ragged roar or Ginny's giggly yodelling. Looney's lilting lullaby was quite pleasant. And although Severus' voice would never be as it had been, it was a still beautiful, a deep, even counterpoint to the general cacophony.

Just like with the school song, everyone was singing their own tune and sticking to their own rhythm.

At last there was only Alina Petrel singing. Her high, sweet descant turned into a fluttering solo as each note of her song turned into a glittering butterfly that soared in crazy circles above their heads.

Afterwards the room was almost silent – the only sound was the breathless flurry of butterfly wings against the ceiling. For a moment they stared everyone stared at each other, at the faces that made up this New Year's circle, old (whoever had invited Aberforth Dumbledore?) and young (shouldn't Teddy have been put to bed long ago?). Then Draco felt Harry squeeze his hand tightly for a second, and the circle dissolved.

Then he stood in front of Hannah, and Hannah smiled at him. "Happy New Year, Draco Malfoy."

Draco put his arms around her. He enjoyed how she pressed her curves against him. "Happy New Year, Hannah Abbott."

**oooOooo**

When they stumbled out of the Floo into the sitting room, Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. The phoenix on her perch in the bay windows cast a baleful glance at them. Woodstock's hoarse squawk said clearly what the young bird thought of all-night parties.

"Oh, Severus," Hermione yawned. "What a great party. Wasn't Harry cute, when he knelt down in front of Ginny? And Draco and Hannah – I think she's really good for him. Teddy is so sweet! And you know what? I think he likes you!" Hermione collided soundly with a bookcase. "Oops," she giggled and stumbled backwards into Severus' arms.

"I shouldn't have allowed you to drink that punch," he muttered. "Merlin only knows what George put in there. Here, stop that."

"Hmpf."

"Stop flailing like that, you silly girl. There's not enough room for that."

Suddenly she simply had to have a kiss. Now. _Right now._ She turned in his arms. He lost his footing. For a moment he kept his balance, caught himself, swayed –

Then it was too late.

With a solid thump they ended up on the landing, Hermione in Severus' lap. Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Hermione squirmed against Severus, curled her arms around his neck and nuzzled his earlobe. "I love you, Severus Snape."

She couldn't tell if his choked reply was a sound of exultation or exasperation.

**oooOooo**

"Severus! Hermione!"

The hoarse sound of Harry's voice didn't quite penetrate her muddled dreams. Not even the quake of the mattress as Severus jumped out of the bed, his muffled oath, and the pounding of his feet on the wooden stairs woke her up.

_Warm. Weary. Hmm…_

She turned around and snuggled deeper under the covers.

**oooOooo**

Suddenly the warm blankets were rudely torn away from her and a cold phial was thrust against her lips.

"Drink this," Severus ordered.

She obeyed without thinking. Sputtering and coughing, Hermione shot up from the bed. She wheezed helplessly and dashed frantically at her eyes. Then she doubled over as Hangover Potion induced nausea twisted her stomach.

A second later, she sat next to her husband, wide awake and sober.

"Oh God, Severus, what are you trying to do? Kill me?" she gasped.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, studying her carefully.

"I'm okay now," she said. "What's wrong? Was that Harry on the Floo?"

Severus nodded. "News from the Ministry." He paused. "Umbridge is dead. She was killed last night." He swallowed hard. "And – they found Shacklebolt. He – has been dead for several weeks."

Hermione's heart pounded, her temples throbbed. "But – but that's _impossible_– I – Percy said he'd talked to the Minister only yesterday!"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"Cave A Signatis"_ means "Beware of those who are Marked".

A Bloodpurfle is my own invention, a South American and deadly variant of the Chizpurfle.

The "Charm of a song" that Muggles use as well is the old Scottish New Year's hymn "Auld Lang Syne".


	173. Back to Hogwarts

**Back to Hogwarts**

"What else did Harry say?"

"Andromeda is acting Minister of Magic. It will take a few days before we'll know how Umbridge and Shacklebolt died. They are recalling the specialists as we speak. But some of the cross-cultural experts are difficult to get hold of." Severus sneered. "They all seem to favour extremely exotic destinations for their vacations."

Hermione reacted the way he'd hoped, with a small huff of a laughter – a definite improvement on the pale, white-lipped stillness that had gripped her before.

"Where are they?" she asked. "In Las Vegas?"

His lips curled with a slight smirk. "That wouldn't surprise me."

Of course he hadn't expected to be able to distract her for more than a few minutes. He wasn't disappointed.

"The bodies are in the Department of Mysteries now, aren't they? When will they know … what happened, what do you think?"

"Monday or Tuesday, probably."

She bit down on her lip, hard. Had she done this already as a student? This – sometimes near desperate – attempt to keep her emotions bottled up and under control? Not that it really mattered with that Gryffindor face of hers. She was, he concluded, easier to read than a Muggle dictionary.

"Then you'll …" She trailed off, swallowed hard.

"Harry and I will go beyond the Veil Friday night," he confirmed. "Harry has already talked to Andromeda and she will allow us to use the Death Chamber."

At her wild-eyed look, he forced a soothing smile upon his lips. "A short-cut, if you will. From Life directly to the Ninth Gate."

"Goodness, Severus."

They stared at each other.

Finally he sighed. "Hermione – it will save my strength. Harry is no Necromancer, for all that Ignotus Peverell is his ancestor and his escapades with Voldemort. I have to carry him _'piggy-back'_ if you will. If I have to wade down the River of Death … with Harry in tow … I – _Hermione, when did you start thinking of me as all-powerful?"_

She attempted to glower at him and failed. "I don't," she said in a small voice. "Not really. I mean, I _know_ you aren't." Unconsciously she rubbed the palms of her hands against each other. Even two years later they were still sensitive. Just like his throat did for him, her hands let her know when the weather was about to change …

Then Hermione raised her head and met his eyes with a wry grin. "But I would like to, you know? I love you. I want you to come back to me _alive."_

He stared at Hermione. He'd watched her grow up. There shouldn't be anything there to astound him. To … _shake_ him like that.

And she certainly didn't look _good_ today.

He remembered a long ago evening at Hogwarts, a short, breathless moment of staring at her, at the promise of a beautiful woman within the gentle curves of a girl. How had this pretty blossom of a girl turned into this thin, pale woman with such serious, sad eyes? And that hair. If she'd only asked him for his opinion before going to that Muggle hairdresser. She looked like … like a bloody _dandelion seed_ now. Hair like weed. Unruly. And it emphasized her slender neck, highlighted the sculpted bones of her face – he didn't like how _fragile _she appeared. Those dark smudges under her eyes …

Again, they stared at each other, wordlessly.

Suddenly there was so much he wanted to say. How much she had come to mean to him, since she had sneaked and bullied her way into his life and into his heart. How, for the first time since he could remember, Spinner's End felt like a home and not a prison. How … Irritably, he shook his head. There was no use deluding himself. There was no future for them. They would not live at Hogwarts happily ever after to return to Spinner's End for holidays or weekends away from it all.

If he returned from beyond the Veil at all, it would be as a ghost. He mustn't forget his appointment at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on Thursday to sort out the legal ramifications of that particular problem …

**oooOooo**

Later: "Let's go back to Hogwarts today. I don't think that Minerva will turn us away, what with Shacklebolt and Umbridge dead."

"No," Severus agreed. "Under the circumstances I think even Minerva will relent."

"Winky?"

"Yes, Madam Apprentice?"

"We are going back to Hogwarts today. Will you take care of Woodstock while we're gone?"

Winky scowled. She still didn't like the phoenix.

Hermione glanced at Severus. It was obvious that Winky preferred to get her orders from _'Master Professor Sir'. _Her husband sighed. "What she said. Take care of the phoenix and the house. And do not question Madam Snape's orders again."

"Very well, Master Professor Sir," the house-elf squeaked. "I is going ironing my hands at once, Master Professor Sir."

"No, you will not," Severus ground out. The pressure he put on his voice indicated how close he was to losing his temper. "Unless I or my wife tell you."

Winky bowed and disappeared with a plop.

"Thank you," Hermione said. But the smile felt thin and unreal on her face.

"I may not support your SPEW," he smirked. "But believe it or not, I do not believe in unnecessary punishment."

Hermione managed a snort. "Says the man who holds the record in subtracting house-points and doling out detentions."

"And every single one of those punishments was necessary for one reason or another." He had the audacity to wink at her. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I just need to go and shrink our luggage."

**oooOooo**

The garden and the house – _her house_ – looked grey on this first day of January. Only way above the roof, Hermione spotted a bit of blue sky. And still she didn't want to leave. For all it had been such a strange, uncomfortable Christmas, she'd been almost …_happy _… in this shabby little house.

**oooOooo**


	174. Sorrow Like a Precious Treasure

**Sorrow Like a Precious Treasure**

The private lab in their quarters was brightly lit. The ingredients for the Sempiternal Solution were laid out on a table, ready for the next morning.

A large iron cauldron, a smaller golden one. A stack of well-aged wood: birch, vine, yew. A bowl with hoof shavings. A bundle with dried coltsfoot and mallowsweet. A phial with augurey tears and another with phoenix tears. A big glass bottle with spring water from a holy well. Smaller bottles with pomegranate and apple juice. A jar with turpentine. A gourd with grated beeswax from horse roses. A jar with dried and grated Bundimun secretion, harvested in Westminster Abbey. Flagons with essential oils. Two small Muggle-type syringes.

An empty pensieve.

Severus stood next to the pensieve, dressed in his customary frock coat and scowl. "The Sempiternal Solution is a Master level Charmed potion of Gallo-Roman origin. It has not been brewed for several hundred years. If it was, indeed, ever successfully prepared."

"But Pomet –" Hermione interrupted without thinking.

"Pomet was a dunce, Hermione! He was an archivist, a documentalist, a scholar. He was never an alchemist or a Potions Master."

"But Flamel –"

Severus scowled. "Flamel _may_ have been on to something. But the object of his research was something completely different. Context matters in potions research, Hermione."

He held up a hand to forestall further arguments and Hermione bit down on her lip. "The brewing process will take three days as the success of the potion depends on various stages of concocting an absolutely homogenous solution, infusing the solution with several Charms and allowing the solution sufficient time to settle in between."

"If you don't believe that the Solution can be made viable, then why are you doing it?"

His lips thinned and his eyes glittered strangely. He would not meet her gaze. She frowned. Why was he brewing such a complex potion if he didn't believe in its viability? Certainly not to keep her out of his hair, or to pacify her. He took his work too seriously. He'd never waste his strength on something irrelevant. Hermione's heart did an odd little skip.

"You're doing it for me, aren't you?" she said slowly. All of a sudden her mouth felt dry and her throat was tight. "To give me hope, even if you don't have any yourself?"

"Rubbish," he snarled, but he still wouldn't look at her. "You're a potions apprentice and since you concluded your last project …." He narrowed his eyes and inclined his head a little towards her. "… shall we say … _adequately,_ you need a _slightly_ more advanced task. That's all there is to it."

**oooOooo**

"There is one more thing we have to do today in order to prepare the potion." He stepped towards the pensieve and picked it up. "You will need to deposit three memories in this pensieve," he said softly.

She nodded. "I know. I'm just not sure which memories. And – they will be lost to me forever, right? That makes choosing them … even more difficult."

"Yes, the memories will be lost. However, I shall create copies of your memories and you can have those back tomorrow."

"Copies of memories? I didn't think that's possible." Hermione frowned. She'd researched pensieves and memory spells extensively while Severus had been at St. Mungo's after Voldemort's defeat.

Severus' expression wavered between a smirk and a scowl. "You are quite right. It wasn't possible. At least until Potter turned my memories into a project. I don't know who taught him to be so thorough, because Merlin knows it wasn't me." He grimaced. "Now there are copies of my memories on file in the Ministry of Magic." He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. "And I can return … blueprints of your memories to you tomorrow."

Hermione's thoughts were a jumble: the veiled compliment for her influence of Harry made her want to smile, the problem of which memories to choose caused her nausea, especially if he … "Do you –" She sucked in her lips and had to swallow hard. "Do you have to look at them in order to copy them?"

He inclined his head, his eyes were like black glass, betraying no emotion. "Yes."

"And – do you know – how – how the copies will be different from the original memories?"

"I have … practiced the procedure, yes. The copies will be … dull. Veiled. Perhaps, like black-and-white TV compared to technicolour. Mono instead of stereo."

Hermione took a deep breath. That made sense. A lot of sense. Thoughtfully, she sucked in her lower lip. Had Harry never talked about this procedure, or had she simply missed it? Of course, they could have it classified as Unspeakable, which seemed likely, so he wouldn't have mentioned it. He might share his course materials on Necromancy, but he was surprisingly scrupulous about the vital things.

"Ah."

The silence between them lengthened.

"How do I choose, Severus?" she asked at last. "All of my memories of you are precious to me. I assume that the memory has to be important – it may very well be that the strength of the connection may depend on it!"

"And it may also be that you will be destroying precious memories for nothing but an exploded cauldron," he replied brutally. With a jerky movement he thrust the pensieve into her hands. "You know how to extract memories. You have an hour to choose and extract your memories."

**oooOooo**

She carried the pensieve to her bedroom. Crookshanks, who'd been sleeping on her bed, greeted her with a reproachful look and only curled up once more, demonstratively turning his back to her.

Hermione sat down on the window seat, cross-legged, the pensieve ensconced in front of her. Outside the lake and the surrounding hills had already disappeared in an early, black January dusk.

_How am I supposed to choose those memories?_ she wondered. She had been honest with Severus. _Damnit, Severus. Every single memory I have of you is precious to me. Even the bad ones._

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to an African proverb: "Sorrow is like a precious treasure, shown only to friends."

A scholarly treatise of the Sempiternal Solution is included at my blog in "The Apprentice and the Necromancer, Part 18". You can find the link to my blog on my profile. At my blog the link to "Apprentice" can be found in the left sidebar.


	175. Twisted Branches Upon the Beach

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Twisted Branches Upon the Beach**

Severus Snape sat in his private study and watched the sun rise on Tuesday, January 2, 2001. It was 8.47 a.m. and the clouds were brightening with a clear, icy morning.

The frozen lake groaned and cracked against the walls of the castle.

He experienced a certain satisfaction at seeing the sunrise. Although he was by no means sentimental about it, sunrises were definitely on the list of things you should see one more time before –

He lowered his gaze to the pensieve on his desk.

Here was a treasure even more precious than a last sunrise. And a treasure he knew he had not deserved to see. At the same time Severus was acutely aware of the fact that he was selfish enough to revel in what he had seen – even if the potion failed. Because without Sempiternal Solution, he would never have had glimpsed what the pensieve contained.

**oooOooo**

_She lay with her face pressed against his shoulder ..._

Her face had the astonished and slack expression of someone who is without pain for the first time in weeks. He watched how she drew a deep breath and how a look of intense relief brightened her brown eyes to golden amber.

He saw himself, how he reacted to that slight movement. His left arm tightened his hold around her waist and pulled her closer in his sleep.

Hermione closed her eyes again in this memory and lay still, sheltered in his embrace. More than that, she burrowed her head against his chest and breathed deeply, inhaling his scent as if it was some kind of heavenly perfume.

He watched Hermione's face, floored at the intensity of feelings so clearly visible. When tears began to trickle from the corners of her closed eyes, the memory faded …

**oooOooo**

_He winced as he watched her recoil slightly ..._

"Leave me be, harpy," his memory-self snapped at Hermione. "I can't endure this constant bossing, bullying and nagging a second longer."

"You're in pain, Severus. That's what's making you so cranky. Please take your potions. And do get some rest. You know what Poppy said!"

"For fuck's sake, Hermione. I'm not a damn pet project. I never asked you to save me."

She stood her ground in silence. Eyebrows raised, she glanced pointedly at the array of phials on his desk.

"I'll take those thrice-damned potions. Now go and leave me alone."

He hadn't seen it then; he'd been much too preoccupied with the simple act of staying on his feet, arms imperiously crossed in front of his chest and turning his back to her, weak with pain and fever.

But now he saw how she hesitated in the doorway. There were tears in her eyes - his harsh words had obviously hurt her - but at the same time she was smiling, a most curious, gentle smile. A surreptitious flick of her wand moved his chair just a foot behind him. He scowled, even in retrospect. _What did the damn woman think, mollycoddling him like that?_

Caught in her memory, he followed her out of the room, watched how she silently closed the door, walked three steps, then leant against the wall and slowly slipped down to the ground, as if her knees were too weak to carry her.

She was shaking all over. Coming closer, he was horrified to see her sobbing.

But when he knelt down next to her to understand what she was whispering, he couldn't believe what he was hearing before the scene drifted away: "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you, dear Lord. That damn git's going to be all right after all!"

**oooOooo**

_The last memory …_ His cock twitched and his balls tightened when he thought of it.

She'd chosen the moment of orgasm.

Her legs wound around his hips to pull him deeper into her body. Their hands linked and pressed into the mattress. Her head thrown back. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth slightly open – and he _remembered_ that moment, that very moment, how could he ever forget it? The beautiful, shrill keening sound elicited by her release …

And the memory of his own climax, only seconds later.

He shook his head to dispel the daze that seemed to come over him, whenever his thoughts strayed to that morning in Spinner's End.

**oooOooo**

When Severus met her in the morning, the puffy, dark bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept at all. Hermione frowned warily. Severus' crankiness increased exponentially to his weariness.

But this morning his demeanour was almost … gentle.

"Here are the copies of your memories," Severus said softly. The contents of the pensieve glowed in a pale blue, instead of the usual silver. "I've done my best to … reproduce them … _most faithfully."_

Heat suffused her face, and a mirror doubtlessly would have revealed a most embarrassing blush. Then she took the pensieve, carefully set it aside on her desk and turned to him with a mock-scowl.

"You impossible man," she exclaimed. "What kind of memories did you expect me to use? The time you reduced me to tears over my cursed teeth when I was still a child? One of a thousand potions lessons? One of a hundred Order meetings?"

Hermione leant against him, encircling his waist with her arms. She inhaled his spicy scent and delighted in the visceral reaction of his body to her closeness. "I need this potion to work. I need you to come back to me."

He didn't reply, but pulled away and reached for her hands. "These are for you," he said gruffly. "And now I need some rest before we can commence with the brewing."

He spun on his heel and disappeared before Hermione had a chance to say anything.

In her hands lay a tiny phial that could be worn around the neck as a pendant. Inside the crystal, the copies of the memories that Severus had extracted for the Sempiternal Solution swirled around in shimmering hues of silvery blue.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **The title of this chapter refers to the poem "Rhapsody on a Windy Night" by T.S. Eliot, which may be more widely known as the song "Memory" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical "Cats".

There is a textual allusion to one of my favourite HG/SS stories in this chapter that is - contrary to what Snape's cranky tone implies - entirely intended as a compliment and a heart-felt homage: if you haven't read "Pet Project" by Caeria yet, please go and do so NOW!

A scholarly treatise of the Sempiternal Solution may be found at my blog, "The Apprentice and the Necromancer - Part 18". The link to my blog can be found at the top of my profile page. At my blog the link to "Apprentice" may be found in the left-hand sidebar.


	176. A Short–Cut of Death

**A Short-Cut of Death**

"No, absolutely not."

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "This crypt would be the perfect solution: it is holy ground. It's certainly a place of death. But since there's a baptismal font, it's also a place of life."

Minerva agreed. "Yes, Severus – why not? It does sound like a sensible suggestion."

Madame Dubois regarded the Potions Master thoughtfully.

"Pomet may have been a dunce and never brewed a successful potion in his life," Severus muttered. "But I do believe he was right about the origin of the Sempiternal Solution. You should Apparate to the White Horse of Uffington."

Turning to Minerva, he added, "And she shouldn't go alone. Have an Order member go with her."

"I should like to come, too," Madame Dubois offered. "And I want Alina to accompany us. Professor Snape – before you protest, hear me out.  
"I respect the Order's decision concerning the girl's _direct_ involvement. But there are Necromantic spells that may help Hermione maintain her connection to you. I know these spells; but on my own, I'm not powerful enough to cast them. Alina doesn't know the spells, but _she_ has that power.  
"I believe that the reason no one (with the possible exception of the Peverells) ever returned from beyond the Ninth Gate may be caused by magical exhaustion after crossing the Nine Precincts of Death rather than the mere act of venturing beyond the Veil. If you can take the short-cut via the Death Chamber of your Ministry, this endeavour may turn out not as perilous as we fear.  
"But a back-up plan never hurts. Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Petrel can accompany us. If all goes well, it will be nothing but a rather chilly picnic."

Harry's face brightened. Severus scowled, but that surprised no one. Hermione was willing to accept all the help they could get.

"I like that plan," Harry announced decisively. "Between Ron and Madame Dubois, Hermione, Lois and Alina should be safe enough. And really, I'd rather have a back-up plan and not need than the alternative … Minerva, I do believe that this is your decision?" He looked expectantly at the headmistress.

The lines her face deepened as Minerva turned to one of the windows. This was not an easy decision. Finally she nodded. "I agree with Harry and Claire. Severus – I don't think this suggestion exposes Alina to unjustifiable risks. Especially if Ron and Ginny accompany them."

Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yes," he admitted at last. "I think that is an acceptable solution."

"Great," Harry exclaimed almost cheerfully. "Then that's all settled. How's that potion of yours coming along then?"

Predictably, the Potions Master scowled at the overly enthusiastic reaction of the young Auror. "The Sempiternal Solution is finished. It needs a few more hours to thicken and settle. It will be ready for use in time."

"And do you think it will work?"

Severus glared at Harry. "That remains to be seen. Now, if you will excuse me? I should check that thrice-damned potion once more."

He jerked around and marched from the room. Harry stared after him, looking rather like a kicked puppy. Hermione patted his arm.

"He's worried, you know?" she said in a low voice. "About you, and about me."

Harry frowned. "He's got a very weird way of showing that."

Hermione surprised herself with a small laugh. "Oh, Harry. We can't all wear our hearts on our sleeves like Gryffindor firsties." She paused, then added. "Though – come to think of it – in his very own, cantankerous, contradictory ways that's exactly what he's doing, huh?"

Her stomach sank when she realised that upon her return to this office she would have to bid her husband goodbye.

There was also a thought that kept niggling at the back of her mind. There'd been something strange about Severus' reaction to her suggestion. He'd looked positively _scared_. What had that been about? Well, only one way to find out. She went to the door.

"I'll see you later then."

**oooOooo**

She found him in the lab, staring at the jar with the creamy, silvery Sempiternal Solution.

"I know it may not mean much," she said. "But I do think it's actually supposed to look like that."

"At least the cauldron didn't explode," Severus retorted sourly. "Which is good; golden cauldrons are expensive."

"Hmm." Hermione bit down on her lip and frowned; she wasn't quite sure how to approach her question.

"Ask," he told her.

"What?"

"You want to ask me something," he said. "I know that frown. Worse, I know that _sound_ – you're chewing up your lip. Therefore: ask your question."

"Right." She inhaled irritably, but managed to curb her temper. "Look, Severus, I couldn't help noticing your rather vehement reaction to my suggestion. And I know that you actually _like _churches. While I agree that the White Horse is also a splendid idea, I'm wondering why you reacted that way. Almost as if there was something about the idea of me alone in a church that scared –" She stopped as her thoughts caught up with her words. She blinked as sudden dread raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

"Severus," she said slowly. "Did … did the Church – the Inquisition – ever employ Necromancers?"

His fingers curled so tightly around the backrest of the chair before him that the knuckles stood out.

"I know it's absurd," he whispered. "Preposterous. _'The robes. Not the wizards.'_ Muggles in robes who are not Muggles at all."

Hermione shuddered as she recognised words of the warning that poor, dead Colin Creevey had given her husband.

Severus spun around and gripped her shoulders, his black eyes boring into her. "I don't think _anything like that_ is even remotely possible in this day and age. But I also don't want to be wrong about that. Therefore I don't want you anywhere _near _a church until I come back."

"Then you – you actually _want_ to come back?" she blurted.

"DAMNIT, Hermione," he snarled. "Of course I do."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the chapter "A Short-Cut of Mushrooms" in "The Fellowship of the Ring"/"The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 120 "Incendio!" contains Colin Creevey's warning that is mentioned at the end of this chapter. Chapters 132, 134 and 135 may also be interesting in connection with this chapter.


	177. Customary Gryffindor Courage

**Customary Gryffindor Courage**

Harry pulled his head from the Floo-coloured fire. A speck of soot was smeared over his cheek. "They'll Apparate to Uffington Castle together. Oh –" He turned and pressed a grubby Muggle picture into Claire's hand. "Here. Ginny says to aim for the middle of those ditches. The Horse itself is on a steep slope. You don't want to break your necks."

Claire studied the picture. It was a clear print. They would have no problem Apparating there safely.

She looked over to Harry Potter. The young Auror was holding up well. But she expected no less from the man who brought down Voldemort. Only the way his angular jaws tightened betrayed his tension.Claire followed his gaze to the painting. From a purely _artistic_ point of view it would be almost sad to see the bold, abstract strokes of colour restored to an ordinary wizarding portrait.

"When you are in Death," she told Harry. "Don't let go of Professor Snape. No matter what. You'll never make it back alone."

"I know. I won't. Don't worry. Ginny would make my death a living hell if I didn't come back," he joked.

"Yes, your fiancée is a formidable witch," Claire agreed, flicking a glance at the brightly coloured tattoos on the backs of Potter's hands.

The door opened and Minerva McGonagall stepped into the room together with Alina Petrel. The girl was pale and unusually quiet. "Hello there, Miss Petrel. Are you up to a late night picnic?"

Alina straightened her back. A sparkle lit up her dark eyes. "I love midnight-picnics in January," she said with determination.

"Why," Claire grinned. "So do I! I can see that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Why don't you and I run ahead to the Apparition point? I expect the Headmistress and Mr. Potter have a thing or two to discuss yet."

Minerva nodded gratefully. "Hermione and Severus will meet you there –" She glanced at her golden pocket watch. "In twenty minutes. Keep the child warm, Claire."

"Don't worry, Minerva. I may not be a powerful Necromancer," she replied. "But I think I can keep one of your charges safe for a few hours."

**oooOooo**

The sword of Godric Gryffindor was heavy in Harry's hand. The silver of the blade and the red of the rubies glittered in the candlelight.

His thoughts went to the effects of the leeching curse. Within only a week there'd been ten new deaths … one of them toddler. The little girl had died of bronchitis. Not even Muggles died of that, damn it! Healer Mugwort was not optimistic concerning the chances of seven elderly wizards and witches in the ICU at St. Mungo's. And Kingsley – Harry felt sick when he thought of the weeks-old corpse he'd been asked to identify.

Minerva McGonagall looked weary. "Severus tells me that you will need to hold on to his hand the entire duration of your … "

"Sojourn?" Harry supplied. Contrary to what Hermione might think, the vocabulary games of their school-days had in fact broadened his linguistic horizon.

"Yes," he reassured the headmistress. "I know. We've been over the technicalities. Severus will need his right hand for those bells. We hope that he doesn't have to hold the linked wands. But we've practiced that – holding his wands together." In spite of himself Harry laughed, when he noticed Minerva's expression.

"It _does_ sound rather like bizarre sex practices, doesn't it?"

The older witch just shook her head. "You have no idea. Though he," she glanced at Dumbledore's portrait. "Would really appreciate the humour of the situation."

Harry frowned. "I bet." Then he squared his shoulders. "I'd better get going. We've got an appointment at the Ministry." He sheathed the sword and held out his hand to Minerva.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything."

"Good luck, Harry."

He could see that she wanted to say more and shook his head. "Good-byes and explanations are always awkward at this point." Harry gave her a wry grin. "I remember."

He grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from the wingback chair. "I'll do my best. I always do," Harry called out and quickly descended the dimly lit staircase before she had a chance to react. He passed the watch-gargoyle and headed for the front doors.

_Death._ Strange how that didn't scare him anymore. _A part of it,_ he reasoned, _must be a certain_'been there, done that'-_bravado and, of course, customary Gryffindor courage. _But there was more to it than adrenaline or past death- and near-death-experiences.

Maybe for the first time ever, he was okay with his life. To the point where he'd be okay with his _death_, too.

He was an Auror. He'd always known that this was a dangerous job. Still, it was what he wanted. And pretty much what he'd done all of his life. He smirked. _Born to be an Auror._

_Ginny …_ Her determined courage was the only thing that made him queasy. It wasn't _his_ death he feared these days. He wrenched away from the icy grip of grief that clenched his heart when he thought of Ginny – of _her_ losing _him_, along with shared dreams of a cottage with the pots of fanged geraniums on the window sills and handmade toy-brooms for unborn children. Nevertheless he knew that no matter _what_ happened, in the end Ginny would be okay, too. She was tough, his Ginny.

He balled his hands into fists as he hurried away from the castle, never bothering to cast an _Impervius_ to keep away the sleet the wind was driving into his face.

He wasn't so sure about Hermione. For all her down-to-earth stubbornness she seemed strangely fragile in her love. And the thought of Snape dying after all the bloody git had had to endure just made him so _fucking_ angry.

When Harry Potter arrived at the Apparition point, one thought was uppermost in his mind: _I'll be damned if I allow anything to happen to Severus Snape on top of everything else._

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Big thanks to whitehound who helped out with immensely detailed information on all things "White Horse of Uffington".


	178. A Meeting of Wands

**A Meeting of Wands**

"Well, Severus," Hermione asked with forced cheerfulness. "Ready to polish some wands with me?"

Severus scowled at her. "Harry already made that joke. It does _not_ improve with repetition."

"Sorry. Chalk it up to a specifically Gryffindor brand of gallows humour." She fell silent and withdrew her wands from their sheaths.

Severus was already dressed as a Necromancer, wearing a leather bandolier with Alina's seven bells slung across his left shoulder. She knew that this very moment Minerva McGonagall was presenting the sword of Gryffindor to Harry. Hermione was also ready to go – warm in Muggle jeans, blouse, jumper, her robes. Her winter-cloak lay tossed over her chair.

But now the time had come to test the Sempiternal Solution.

On the table in front of them sat a wide bowl with a silvery salve. The solution had thickened nicely. Two clean, white polishing cloths lay next to it.

Carefully, Hermione placed her wands on the table. The pale reddish wood of the yew wand created a beautiful contrast to the darker, quirkier wood of her vine wand. She turned to her husband.

"Well." Excitement bubbled inside her like fine Champagne. The time for fear was over. "Are you going to show me your wand now or what?"

Lips thinned, black eyes glittered. He did not appreciate the way Gryffindors dealt with stressful situations. But he took out his wands as well, and laid them on the table next to hers. Hermione noted with a certain amusement that her male wand was longer than his. She admired the birch wood of his female wand. It was almost white, pure and crisp.

"They are beautiful," she whispered. Following an impulse, she turned around and reached up, cupping his cheek. "As are you."

His hand slid around her neck in a sensual caress. He pulled her towards him, resting his lips against her forehead. "Foolish, foolish woman," he murmured his customary endearment.

She inhaled a shuddering breath. "Are we ready then?"

"Yew first, I think."

She picked up his wand. A rush of power raced down her spine. Her nipples hardened. Severus smirked at her and reached for her wand. When he had to close his eyes for a moment in reaction to whatever feelings _her wand_ caused him, she couldn't suppress a smug smile. He raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.

They linked their wand-arms and reached for the polishing cloths.

They knew the spell by heart.

_"Per vitam ad mortem," _they chanted._ "A morte ad vitam. Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum."_

Power radiated from their wands, flowed through their linked arms. Hermione couldn't have let go of the wand or Severus if she had wanted to. The room darkened and disappeared around them. Only the wands between their bodies and the shimmering bowl with the Sempiternal Solution remained in focus. She dabbed her cloth into the bowl. The salve felt smooth and cool through the fabric. She touched the cloth to Severus' wand just as he reached for hers.

A brilliant flash of light burst from their wands. Golden, amber fire danced with flickering blue flames.

_"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam. Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum."_

Their voices mingled as bolts of magic shot through their hands, their arms. Severus glowed with the blue fire of his magic. Dimly Hermione realised that the amber shine at the periphery of her vision must be the light of her own magic.

Her fingers slid up and down the length of his wand, reminding her of very similar movements in a completely different situation. And her body didn't care.

She felt herself tighten and tense, as the power and the light pulsed through her in the rhythm of her strokes.

_"… coniungo! Coniungo!"_

The magic exploded within her.

**oooOooo**

Gasping, she leant against Severus' chest. His heart was thundering, and he was breathing hard, too.

"Bloody hell," he cursed.

"So _that's_ the magical origin of all those wand jokes," Hermione quipped feebly. Once the world stopped spinning around her, she'd probably appreciate the humour of these particular spell-effects even more.

"Give me my wand," Severus ordered tersely.

After a bit of fumbling, they managed to exchange their wands, while still clinging weakly to each other.

_"Scourgify,"_ he muttered darkly.

Her wand hummed in response, almost as if an echo of his spell chimed up inside.

"Severus," she gasped. "I think it works. I _felt_ that!"

"What? Of course you did. I didn't think you would appreciate damp knickers anymore than I would this –" He stopped. "The spell? The solution? Your wand reacted to my spell?"

"Yes! Like a tingle. Inside the wand. Like … an echo, perhaps."

"Interesting." He drew back, but slid his hands down her arms to steady her. "Can you stand?"

Hermione shivered. She was still incredibly sensitive to his touch, even through all those layers of fabric. "A bit weak-kneed, still. But I think I'll manage. – A silent spell, maybe?" she suggested.

He inclined his head. His face was a mask. She had on inkling of what he was up to. Then her wand pulsed. She closed her eyes, concentrated on the feeling, trying to identify and interpret it. Then she shook her head. "There _is_ something. I felt it clearly. A … pulse? Like a heartbeat, inside the wand." She frowned as a flash of intuition struck her. "Just a wild guess – something to do with hair?"

He stared at her.

"I was right?" she goggled at him. "Hair?" She reached up. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "You cast a wordless _disentanglement_ charm on my hair?"

Severus shook his head. "Great Merlin," he said softly. "Maybe you're right after all."

Her heart thudded. _This _will_ work. He'll come back._

She met his eyes boldly. "I hope I am. I _know_ I am." She took a deep breath. "Ready for the next round?"

His gaze grew heated. Her mouth went dry.

"Now that I know what to expect," he said silkily, "I am _more_ than ready."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam. Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum." - _"Through life to death. From death to life. I link (you)! I link (you)! Forever."


	179. Vitae Summa Brevis …

**Vitae Summa Brevis …**

The darkness of Disapparition was too short to get a grip on her emotions. Hermione barely noticed the painful squeeze and nauseous twisting and turning that accompanied the procedure. Hermione staggered. Only Madame Dubois's iron grip on her arm kept her on her feet. A muttered _"Merde!"_ and an anxious "Hermione, are you okay?" finally penetrated the dizziness and she regained some sense of herself and her surroundings. Madame Dubois was supporting her, while Alina held her wand out before them. The blue-white light of her _Lumos _spell gave the girl a ghostly appearance, white-faced and dark-eyed.

A CRACK! sounded in the distance, then Hermione heard a muffled curse.

"Ron, that was my foot!"

"Sorry, it's DARK here, if you didn't notice!"

"Are you a wizard or what?"

Two wands lit up brightly, revealing Ron, Lois and Ginny. Ginny carried a huge picnic basket. Ron was holding Lois' hand.

"Hey there," he waved his wand enthusiastically, oblivious of the sparks he was shooting into the air. "Anyone for tea or coffee? I've also got some mulled cider. And Mum seems to think we're going to spend weeks here, given the provisions she put together for us. – Now, where is that holy horse we're supposed to go to?"

"It's down there," Lois said and pointed off into the darkness between two banks that were fenced off with wire strung haphazardly between skewed, low posts. "Careful, the slope is quite steep."

"Right," Ron said. "Then we'd better have more light." His witchlight brightened instantly. "Are you coming, Alina?"

Alina cast a worried look at Hermione, but when she managed to nod, the girl scampered off. Madame Dubois kept her arm around Hermione a moment longer. "Will you be all right?"

Hermione's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Sure. I've never been better. No, really. Go ahead. I – I'd like a word with Ginny."

**oooOooo**

"Ginny!" she gasped – and fell silent. She stared at her friend, at her golden engagement ring with its small Gryffindor ruby, at a loss for words.

The smaller woman squared her shoulders. Tendrils of Ginny's hair had escaped the ribbon at the nape of her neck and now surrounded her face like a flaming red halo in the glare of the wand-light. She thrust out her chin stubbornly. "They'll come back, Hermione. They'll break that damn curse and come back. Remember? Harry is The Boy Who Lived and Lived and Lived. He should have died twice already and survived both times. He'll manage to survive again. And he knows better than to come back without the _gr–_ without Severus."

_… without the greasy git._ Hermione gulped. She clumsily wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. Her hands were shaking too hard to hold a handkerchief.

Ginny shook her head in a bemused fashion. "You know, back at school, who'd have thought that you'd wind up in such a state one day because you might not see _him_ again …"

"Yes, life's certainly weird that way," Hermione sniffled. Then she took a deep breath. Ginny nodded approvingly as Hermione managed to pull herself together.

"Let's get going," Ginny ordered briskly. "You're supposed to be on holy ground when you activate that spell of yours. We'd better get you on that horse."

**oooOooo**

When Hermione blithely marched past the signs that warned people to keep off and cut through the low wire-fence with a flick of her wand, Ron sniggered. He nudged Lois and nodded to Hermione.

"See, that's our Hermione – she just _pretends_ to be such a good little witch. Given the right incentive, she can be downright scary:"

"Remove your shoes before you go down the slope, Ronald, or I'll show you just how scary I can be," Hermione threatened. "We may be forced to disregard the rules here, but we'll treat this place with the respect it deserves."

"Well," Ron said, looking around. "To be honest, it doesn't look like much."

He was right. Their wandlight illuminated a steep hillside surrounded by the darkness of an icy January night. Between ragged borders of grass scruffy and pale with winter, an area of crumbling white chalk bedrock lay exposed to the elements. It didn't look particularly awe-inspiring or holy. It certainly didn't look like a horse.

Lois shivered when she reached the stone of the Horse and hurriedly pulled her socks back on. Ron grinned. "Getting cold feet, love? Don't worry, I'll keep you warm." He pointed his wand at her feet and murmured a quick Charm.

"Oh! Lois squealed with delight. "That's nice and toasty!"

"So what happens next?" Ron asked, turning towards Hermione.

"You enjoy your picnic. I invoke the spell. And then … we wait."

**oooOooo**

Hermione remained barefoot when she stepped onto the white rock of this ancient place of power, unwilling to risk any interference with the spell. Cold seeped into her feet from the stone, raced in ripples of goose bumps up her legs, spread over her belly, shivered down her back and hardened her nipples.

_This will work. This _must _work. _She pulled her wands from their sheaths

_He will come back. He _must_ come back. _She gripped her wands tightly. Sturdy vine and dragon heartstring in her right. Vine to bind and to heal. Dragon heartstring – the pure power of a white dragon. Long and slender, yew and sphinx feather in her left. Yew for death and resurrection. And sphinx, the guardian of the ways.

_I love him. … I love them _both. _Best friend and honorary brother. Teacher, Master and husband. _She shivered convulsively.

_I love you. I need you. _She bit down on her lip.

_It just wouldn't be fair. It was much too short a time to know you. _She raised the wands. _You must come back to me._

_"Coniungo,"_ she cried. Her voice sounded thin and shrill to her ears. _"Coniungo!"_

_Through life and death we are linked. In death and life we are linked. For all eternity we are linked._

_You _must_ come back to me._

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the following poem by Ernest Dowson (1867-1900):

_"Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam" (The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long - Horace) (1896)_

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,  
Love and desire and hate;  
I think they have no portion in us after  
We pass the gate.  
They are not long, the days of wine and roses;  
Out of a misty dream  
Our path emerges for a while, then closes  
Within a dream.

The spell that joins Hermione's and Severus' wands is: _"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam. Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum." - _"Through life to death. From death to life. I link (you)! I link (you)! Forever."

The White Horse at Uffington is a stylised representation of a horse made of exposed white chalk on the slope of a hill near Uffington. It is some 374 feet long, and is thought to date back as far as 1000BC in the late Bronze Age.

Many thanks to whitehound for lots of practical information about the layout of the site of the White Horse at Uffington.


	180. We Pass the Gate

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**We Pass the Gate**

The room had not changed. It was still a gloomy, windowless rectangle of granite with a raised platform at the centre. On that platform stood an archway of black stone, unsupported by the walls, its pillars cracked and crumbling with age. Inside that strange portal hung a tattered black curtain that billowed now and again, as if a breeze was blowing against it from behind. The dais looked like the stage of an antique theatre. As if it was only waiting for actors to appear … and to repeat some classic tragedy before an invisible audience.

Harry hesitated for a heartbeat. Then he strode briskly down the steep steps. His footfalls echoed noisily. Behind him Snape seemed to glide like a ghost, with a barely audible shuffle of smooth leather soles on the hard surface of the stones.

Once he reached the pit, Harry stepped close to the dais, but didn't climb up yet. He studied the archway closely.

"I've dreamt of this blasted chamber so often since my fifth year," he murmured. "I've returned here over and over and over in my nightmares …"

"You were a child."

Harry wasn't surprised to hear the silky voice of the Potions Master right behind him. But the gentle tone did astonish him. He turned and looked at Severus Snape. The man's dark eyes were focused on the archway. "In spite of your teenaged histrionics and your Gryffindor heroics, you did the best you could."

Harry swallowed dryly, before he could answer. "But my best wasn't good enough."

Black eyes bored into him. At last Severus nodded. "That is true. But such is life. Sometimes a man's best is not good enough. And sometimes that will be his fault, and sometimes it will be mere circumstance conspiring against his best efforts." He paused, and his voice was very soft, when he added, "But no _child_ should ever be put into the position you were in at that time."

Harry had no idea what to reply, so he turned back to contemplate the archway.

It still possessed that archaic beauty he remembered, a certain eerie majesty that no cracks and no crumbling corners could mar. The veil swayed and rippled. For a moment Harry thought that the other side of its fabric shimmered just like his Invisibility Cloak . Like silver rain spun into cloth.

"Right." Harry swallowed hard. His left hand strayed to the hilt of Godric Gryffindor sword at his side. He kept his eyes on the fluttering curtain. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His heartbeat quickened. Then he put his palms on the dais and pushed himself up onto the platform. He squatted and extended a hand towards Severus. "Shall we?"

"So eager to die?" Severus sighed. "Just a moment. I need to invoke the spell on my wands."

**oooOooo**

Severus took a moment to think of her, to savour the memories of the brief time fate had allowed him with his Hermione. An odd, out-of-synch beat of his heart tasted bittersweet on his tongue – he had been honest with her, he _did_ hope for more.

More: Long winter evenings such as they'd spent in Spinner's End, talking down a bottle of wine. Or even two.  
More: Her gasp of surprise when he presented her with roses. Shared laughter and shared desire … _Damn,_ he even cherished their arguments. Her precious, furious tears.

He withdrew his wands and raised them.

_"Coniungo,"_ he whispered, and recalled her body writhing under his. Yes. Writhing with pleasure. For him! _"Coniungo!"_ How he had claimed her as his own. How she had clasped him deep within herself._"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam."_ How the tightness of her body, how the friction of their joined bodies had driven him nearly crazy until their union had brought him … and her … what he could only call – _bliss._

_"Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum."_

And he felt it – instantly – an answer. A … tingling, prickling sensation. Like the echo of a gasp, a sweet exhalation of breath under his searching lips …

He transferred both wands to his right hand. He secured the longer wand between his smallest finger and his ringer finger, extending below his thumb. The shorter wand he squeezed between ring finger and middle finger, extending above his thumb. That way he could hold onto both wands and still pluck a bell from the bandolier with middle finger, index finger and thumb.

Severus climbed the dais and regarded the young wizard who was waiting for him. He recognised that Gryffindor grin.

"Some ground rules before we go," he snarled. "No Gryffindor heroics until I say so. And you will not let go of my hand until we are well and truly dead, with no chance in hell to ever make it back here."

"Sounds sensible to me," Harry replied with a smirk. "If you promise to refrain from Slytherin martyrdom until I say so. Oh, and you _may_ keep holding my hand even when we're well and truly dead." The young auror inhaled, but he was obviously too tense to breathe deeply. Then he had the nerve to add, "I'd really prefer to come back alive, you know. But if we're about to kill ourselves … I don't think I could ask for better company." Suddenly he grew very serious. "If you're right, and that Vow my mother made you take forces you to return as a ghost – would you … tell Ginny …" He exhaled with a short burst of breath. "Oh, damn, I suck at this emotional stuff." He grimaced. "Ah, hell, Sev – you know what I mean."

Severus frowned at this overly familiar form of address. But standing before the Veil it seemed petty even to him to take offence. He sighed. "I do. If it comes to that, you have my word that I shall do my best to find … suitable words to pass on to your fiancée."

This time Severus extended his hand to Harry. "Let's go."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the following poem by Ernest Dowson (1867-1900):

_"Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam" (The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long - Horace) (1896)_

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,  
Love and desire and hate;  
I think they have no portion in us after  
We pass the gate.  
They are not long, the days of wine and roses;  
Out of a misty dream  
Our path emerges for a while, then closes  
Within a dream.

The spell that joins Hermione's and Severus' wands is: _"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam. Coniungo! Coniungo! In sempiternum." - _"Through life to death. From death to life. I link (you)! I link (you)! Forever."

The descriptions of the Death Chamber in the Ministry of Magic are based on those given in the chapter "Beyond the Veil" in "Order of the Phoenix".

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	181. All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here

**All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here**

"Wait!"

"What?" Severus bit out irritably.

"The cloak. The Invisibility Cloak. I think we should wear it. Just in case Dumbledore was wrong and there's not just another plane of existence … or … _uh…__non-existence_, I guess, behind that Veil, but also some guy who guards it." Harry was aware that he sounded remarkably stupid, but he still held out the cloak to Severus. Since the Potions Master was the taller man, he'd have to wear the cloak while Harry stayed close enough to his side to be covered as well.

"Very well." Snape grabbed the cloak and threw it over his head. The air shimmered for a moment around him, then he was gone. A second later, Harry heard the faint rustle of fabric and the air split apart, revealing a part of Severus again, namely his left arm and side.

"Great," Harry said. "We'd better get going."

"Nervous?" He could detect a faint note of amusement in Severus' voice.

Harry bit his tongue and took the older man's hand. Snape's long fingers curled around his in an iron grip. His skin was cold and clammy. As Harry ducked under the Invisibility Cloak, huddling next to Severus, he grinned. He was not the only one who was nervous.

"So where does it say _'All hope abandon, ye who enter here'?"_ Harry quipped, desperately clinging to some gallows humour. His voice sounded muffled under the cloak. It was quite warm and he noticed a spicy fragrance that seemed to cling to the man next to him. Snape used an _eau de toilette?_ But that was impossible – the man was _the greasy git_!

_"'A fair request should be followed by the deed in silence',"_ Snape drawled. "Kindly shut up and follow me."

**oooOooo**

The Veil was soft around them as they stepped through. For a moment Harry thought there were hands reaching for him, a gentle caress, a silken embrace, and that there were voices whispering into his ears, many voices, both old and young. But if they used words of love or hate, he couldn't tell.

As the frayed seam of the Veil slid across his shoulder, it shimmered just like his Invisibility Cloak. His heart beat heavily. It seemed that Flamel had been right – this must be the same fabric. Was _his cloak_ the reason that the Veil in the Death Chamber was so tattered and torn?

**oooOooo**

On the other side, they stopped dead.

Harry inhaled a shuddering breath. He was still able to breathe. And his heart was racing. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I … _uh…_ I don't feel dead. _Umm…_ Do you?"

He stared straight ahead and swallowed hard. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face a Severus reduced to the pearly glow of a ghostly existence. A thought struck him – they were still holding hands, and Snape's hand didn't feel any different. Still cool, but firm. Firm. Very tangible.

"Not quite yet," was the sour response. "But if you don't loosen that death grip of yours around my hand, that may happen yet. If you don't mind, refrain from breaking my fingers."

"Right." Harry took another deep breath and forced himself to relax his hand a little. Then he looked to his right. In the dim twilight that surrounded them, Severus loomed at his side like a black shadow. But he did feel the warmth of Severus' body. And he could still smell that _eau de toilette_ or whatever that scent was. "Right." They had passed beyond the Veil. And they were not precisely dead. Now what?

Harry dared to glance back at the Veil, looking over his right shoulder – and gasped. "Sev–" He coughed. "Severus, the Veil! It's gone!"

Snape spun around, unceremoniously dragging Harry along with him. Harry stumbled, scrambled, then they stood next to each other again and stared –  
– at a large gate set in an archway of smooth black stone.

Unsurprisingly, the doors of the gate were locked.

"Shit," Snape cursed softly.

"No shit!" exclaimed Harry, when he caught the gleam of metal out of the corner of his eye. "Look at your wands! I think that Sempiternal potion-spell … connection … _thing_ actually _worked!"_

**oooOooo**

Severus stared at his wands – or rather, at his _wand._

He was holding only one wand now, his right wand, yew with dragon heartstring. His other wand, birch with a sphinx feather at the core, had turned into a large golden skeleton key with an elaborate bow and tooth.

_Rebirth._ Birch for rebirth and new beginnings. And now, the key to the gates between Life and Death.

"That is certainly unexpected," he said softly.

"That's fairly awesome, I'd say. Wait until we get to tell Hermione about that!" Relief coloured the youthful enthusiasm of Harry's voice. Strangely, Severus didn't feel annoyed at the young man's reaction. Instead he felt his heart-beat more heavily for a breath or two. _Maybe he would see her again, after all. _

He stood in silence for a moment, studying the key. It was heavy in his hand, the cold metal of its shaft slowly warming in his grasp. He thought he recognised ancient Greek symbols in the pattern of bow and tooth, but now was not the time to examine it more closely. Severus took a deep breath and tucked the key securely into the inner pocket of his frock coat.

"Well, Harry," he said gruffly. "Since you have just demonstrated an astonishing talent for observation and deduction by coming to the accurate conclusion that we are not dead … _yet,_ how would you like to turn around now and set about accomplishing our task?"

Harry's fingers tightened around his. Severus looked down at the young auror. The unruly spikes of Harry's black hair reached just above Severus' shoulder. Harry was a bit taller than Hermione; but not much.

Harry snorted. "Fine with me, sir."

Together, they turned. Empty grey plains stretched out before them until they faded into blurred mists in the distance.

"Now what?" asked Harry.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The quotes in this chapter are from the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri. 


	182. Heavy Fields of Scentless Asphodel

**Heavy Fields of Scentless Asphodel**

They turned around again and stared at the arc once more. Just like in the Chamber of Death, the archway with the Gate between Life and Death stood on its own, unsupported by any walls.

The twilight-plains around them were cloaked in silence. No murmur of voices, no buzzing of bees, no trilling of birds, no whispering winds disturbed the quiet. The only sound was the noise of their own breathing. Heavy and fast, it betrayed their tension.

There was no path and no discernible landmarks, not even trees. The vegetation consisted solely of knee-high, drab herbs and grasses, interspersed with flowering plants that grew roughly up to their hips. No stars and no sun offered guidance in the ashen sky.

"What kind of weed is that stuff?" Harry asked and dragged Severus closer to one of the plants. It was about three feet high and shaped a bit like a sceptre. Its stem and leaves were slate-grey. But the blossoms – clusters of six tapering petals, elegant filaments and proud styles – were white. The flower looked vaguely familiar.

The tug of the cloak around his shoulder made him realise that Severus was shaking his head. "How you passed your herbology OWL with _'Exceeds Expectations'_, I'll never understand," Severus commented. "This," he paused, apparently unwilling to forego his penchant for dramatic effects even here, "is an asphodel, an Asphodelus Ramosus to be exact. And the rest of this …_stuff_ … is mint, and a monocotyledonous green plant from the family of the _Gramineae_, more commonly known as _'grass'_."

"Ah." Harry leant closer to the flower. "Strange. It doesn't have any scent at all." He turned back to Snape. "Right," Harry said. "So it's an asphodel. Does that actually give us a clue as to where we are? I mean, apart from _'beyond the Veil'?_ Or how we're supposed to find Dumbledore?"

"I take it you don't remember any of your lessons in ancient magical history?"

"I _did_ have a _'D'_ in history of magic in my OWLs," Harry offered helpfully.

"Thankfully I did not," Severus said dryly. "I think we are in the area that the wizards of Ancient Greece called the _'Meadows of Asphodel' – _where the souls of the dead dwell before passing on to their final destiny. The other _'stuff'_ on the ground supports this interpretation: Mint is a herb hallowed to Hades, the Greek God of the Underworld. It is supposed to be the metamorphosed form of the nymph Minthe, one of Hades' lovers. Though modern scholars maintain that this story is only the mythical explanation of a botched _Florimagus_ attempt."

"Yikes." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "So that means we're exactly where souls would stay who'd want to remain close to the Veil, right? Like, souls still connected to their portraits and such."

"Yes, I think that is a fair assumption."

"Great." Harry looked around once more. "So, _um…_ where_is_ everybody? Shouldn't it be sort of busy around here, if that's the case? You know, with lots of souls passing through and hanging around?"

Snape just sighed at his ignorance. "According to Homer only a libation of blood will allow a soul to regain form and the faculty of speech in the Asphodel Meadows. But how it is possible to call upon a specific soul is never mentioned. Even among wizards, this is the_stuff_ of legends and not of learning."

"Libation of blood? You mean, like … a sacrifice?"

"Yes, indeed, a sacrifice. _'The Nekya'_ – the Book of the Dead – asks for the blood of a black ram and a barren heifer, as well as several other substances. Though if memory serves, an earlier author claimed that for a proper libation the blood of a virgin should be used."

Harry sighed. His back and hand were beginning to hurt. He was instinctively ducking his head in order to remain underneath the protective cover of the Invisibility Cloak. "Okay, that's a bit of a problem. No ram, heifer or virgin available. I guess we'll just have to make do with what we have – " He reached for Godric Gryffindor's sword and pulled a few inches of the blade from the sheath. He awkwardly clasped it between his right thumb and their joined hands. Then he twisted around and sliced his left arm across the blade, just above the back of his hand.

_"Shite!"_ Harry jerked back at the sharp sting of pain. The sword slipped from his grasp and slid back into the sheath.

"Potter, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Severus snapped.

Harry raised his arm. Somehow he'd managed to create a ragged zigzag of a cut, which reminded him uncomfortably of the scar on his forehead. It was also not as shallow as he'd intended. The wound was bleeding profusely. "Providing that libation, of course."

He used their joined hands to hold the cloak a little bit away from their bodies. Then Harry proceeded to shake his left wrist vigorously. Fat drops of blood flew from his arm and sprinkled the nearest asphodel, bright red on its white blossoms. He kept going for a while, until the mint plants and the grass below it, as well as the granite coloured ground were liberally adorned with splotches of red.

_We need a guide,_ he thought desperately. _We need someone to take us to Dumbledore … Please, let this work … We need a guide … _When he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, he stopped. Dizzy, he shook his head and staggered.

_"Damn,"_ Severus cursed. "Don't you dare and let go."

"Won't," Harry murmured. "At least not quite yet. Can you heal that?"

A moment later he felt the tip of Severus' wand on his wrist. Warmth flooded his hand and arm. Feeling returned to his fingers. "Cool, at least that wand's still working," Harry breathed. "Thanks."

Suddenly Severus jerked around.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Don't you hear that?"

"What?"

"The sound of wings – something is flying towards us, and it's coming closer quickly."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter is taken from the poem "Phedre" by Oscar Wilde. The Greek mythology used in this chapter is mainly based on Homer. Best source for Ancient Greek mythology online is Theoi. Take a look, it's a really cool site. 


	183. Guidance

**Guidance**

"It's an –"

"Hedwig!"

Harry lurched forward, tearing off the Invisibility Cloak and nearly wrenching loose from Severus' grasp. Somehow Severus managed to thrust his wand into the bandolier with the Necromantic bells. He lunged and clung with both hands to Harry's arm.

Meanwhile, the white owl circled overhead, before she descended and alit on Harry's left forearm.

"Hedwig! Oh, Hedwig!" Harry cried and slumped down on his knees so suddenly that he dragged Severus with him, almost severing their connection again. The owl ruffled her feathers and opened her beak in a voiceless hoot of comfort. Harry crooned to the bird, meaningless monosyllables of sentimental attachment.

"Bloody hell, _Potter!_ What do you think you're doing with that blasted bird?" Severus shouted and recoiled, when the damn soul of an owl pecked at him, silently, but viciously.

Harry glared at him. "If you haven't noticed yet," he said sweetly, "I'm welcoming our guide, _Sev."_

"I _will_ call you _'Potter' _if you act like that hot-headed idiot who spawned you," Severus spat. "How many times did I tell you before we passed beyond the Veil that you MUST NOT LET GO of my damn hand while we're here?"

His knees were bruised and throbbed with pain from hitting the ground with no way to break his fall. His arms were shaking due to the twisted position he was forced into to keep a good hold on Harry. He fought the impulse to shove Harry away and storm off. In the end Severus even tightened his hold, while he stared down at the grey mint plants before him, counting his heartbeats until he regained control over his temper.

"Have you realised – _Harry_ – that neither Miss Weasley nor Hermione have even attempted to make me promise to bring you back alive?" Severus asked with a dangerous hint of silk in his voice, although the temptation to ultimately give in to his anger had passed.

"What?" Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the owl on his arm. "Why?"

"They do not trust me to be able to protect you from yourself."

"What?" Now those brilliant green eyes (Why did they have to remind him of Lily again right now, right here?) burned with righteous indignation. Severus winced. That was not how he'd meant his words, that was not what he'd wanted to say, not at all; he only wanted him to understand, to be careful. This was not a bloody _picnic_, after all!  
_Merlin, Nimuë and Circe, why is it that all my interactions with that boy are cursed from the start?_

"What?" Harry repeated. "But they _know_ I trust you! They _know_ you've protected me at Hogwarts from day one, no matter that you've been downright nasty about it. And I _know_ that Hermione loves you!"

Severus stared at Harry, flummoxed by that outburst. "No. No, strangely, that is not the issue. Not at all," he said softly, bewildered at Harry's reaction. "It's something else entirely. They did not say it, they did not even _have_to say it – but they are afraid that something like what _almost_ happened a moment ago _would_ happen." Severus raised his eyebrows slightly, then he nodded first at the snow-white owl perched on Harry's arm before raising their hands, miraculously still linked together. Harry's hand was turning hot and sweaty in his grasp. "Your fiancée, my wife, your friends, they are worried that even though you are nearly a full-fledged auror – or _supposed to be_, at least," he sneered, "that you'll _still_ act first and –"

Harry frowned. By now not only Severus' knees were throbbing with pain. A pounding headache had settled in his temples. He shook his head in mute frustration.

"– and that, this time around, I won't get the chance to _think_ about my rash acts and impulsive behaviour later?" Harry finished Severus' sentence.

Severus nodded weakly. After a moment's consideration he slowly removed his right hand from Harry's arm again and shifted his weight away from his bruised knees. He watched while Harry continued to stroke the apparition of his owl. At least Harry appeared to be contemplating his conclusion of Severus' sentence.

"She's all that was good about my childhood, you know," Harry said suddenly. "Hedwig. Hagrid gave her to me, to make up for all of my birthdays he'd missed before I got my letter. I don't think I ever got a present that meant more to me. Except maybe that broom that Sirius sent to me." Severus couldn't suppress a scowl, but Harry just grinned. Abruptly, Harry asked, "What was the best thing about your childhood, Severus?"

Severus stared that snowy owl. _Not much of a symbol for a childhood,_ he reflected. _But strangely fitting for a boy who hadn't been allowed to have much of a childhood at all. _He wanted to give a scathing reply, something along the line of _'That's none of your business, Potter.'_ However, sitting as they were on the Fields of Asphodel beyond the Veil that seemed petty even to him.

"Lily," he answered at last. "Your mother. She was the best part of my childhood. And for many years, of my life." He was astonished to discover that he smiled when he spoke her name.

"That's great," Harry said. The honest warmth in Harry's voice stunned Severus.

"Maybe … one day … you might tell me about …" Harry trailed off, with a little awkward shrug.

After a long moment of silence, Severus replied, "Maybe one day I could."

_"Umm,_ right." Harry shifted awkwardly. "About my acting rashly, sir – could you maybe use that variety of the _Incarcerous_that you developed to _uh…_ tie us together? Just in case I do something stupid again."

"That is actually a good idea." Severus raised his wand. Thin leather thongs slithered from its tip and wound themselves around their joined hands and fingers.

"Very well," he said finally. "Maybe you could ask our guide to show us the way to Albus Dumbledore now?"

**oooOooo**


	184. An Interesting Find

**An Interesting Find**

It was not difficult to follow Hedwig. She flew only a few feet ahead of them, not very high, at an even, slow speed.

The going was easy. The most demanding aspect of their hike was to avoid getting the Invisibility Cloak snagged on the ubiquitous asphodels. Yet the only indication that they made any progress at all was how the archway with the Gate grew smaller and smaller behind them, until it disappeared into the blur of grey fog between plains and sky.

"The wizards of Ancient Greece thought that owls were the messengers of Hades, the God of the Underworld," Severus said suddenly, startling Harry from his thoughts – uncomfortable thoughts about childhood in general, and his Mum and Severus in particular.

"Oh?" Harry tried not to wince. If he kept coming across like a dunderhead, how should he ever manage to win – _wait a moment,_ since when did he care about having or not having Snape's respect?

"Yes," Severus snapped. "A fact which is, _by the way,_ part of the curriculum of History of Magic at Hogwarts. Professor Binns covers Ancient Greece in the First Year."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "So that's why we use owls as messenger birds? Interesting, that."

Snape shook his head. "The historical reason for that is actually Ascalaphus – the real man, not the orchardist of Hades that mythology turned him into. He was a priest of Pallas Athene and his Animagus form was a screech-owl. He accompanied Greek armies into battle and then turned into his Animagus form to spy and to carry messages for his side. He was naturally much better at these tasks than ordinary owls. But of course that didn't keep wizards from trying to imitate the Greeks, hoping they would find equal success with their common barn and screech owls. That is the grain of truth in the magical and the mundane legends about owls in antiquity."

Harry snorted. "The way you tell the story, it's actually interesting."

He pondered that idea for a while as they walked. At last he glanced at the tall man striding along next to him "You actually like teaching, don't you? We used to think that you hate it._And_ the students. – Well, except the Slytherins, maybe."

The soft huff of Severus' breathing told Harry that his companion was thinking about his comment.

After a while, the Invisibility Cloak tugged at Harry's shoulders: Severus nodded. "Yes, contrary to your impression I _do_ like teaching. I may not be the best teacher there is and I am certainly not a very patient instructor …"

Their eyes met for a second and Harry caught the hint of grin curling up the corners of Severus' thin mouth. "Teaching was certainly not what I originally aspired to. But I have come to enjoy it over the years."

"You certainly hid that well while I was at Hogwarts," Harry admitted frankly. "And what do you like about it?"

"It may have escaped you, but while you attended Hogwarts I had other things on my mind than the joys of my profession."

"Good point."

For several minutes they walked in silence. Then Snape inhaled contemplatively, long nostrils flaring. "What I like about teaching … a number of things, in fact. I love my subject – the subtle science and exact art of potion making. And it is rewarding to witness how at least some students develop an understanding of and an appreciation for this subject over the years. It is even quite satisfying to have a hand in preventing the Longbottoms and Crabbes of this world from blowing themselves up before they reach their OWLs." Severus smirked.

Harry chuckled. "Okay, I guess I can see that. – Hey, what's Hedwig doing now?"

The white owl kept circling a spot not far ahead of them.

**oooOooo**

Severus narrowed his eyes and frowned. "But there's nothing there …"

"Oh yes, there is!"

Harry had been the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in over a century for a reason. He quickly scanned the area next to the huge asphodel on which Hedwig perched precariously. In spite of its small size and its dark colour, which blended in with the grey shades of the surrounding vegetation, Harry's sharp eyes glimpsed the floating black pebble almost instantly. And he would have reached for it just as quickly, if the reflexes of a master duellist hadn't been more than a match for the agility of a Seeker. Severus grabbed Harry across the chest and dragged him backwards.

"Was our recent conversation concerning the dangers of acting with foolish rashness only a hallucination? Wishful thinking on my part?" he hissed.

Harry's shoulders slumped. _"Shite,"_ he muttered. "Robards would have my head for that stunt. Sorry, sir."

"One more slip-up like that," Severus said in a silky voice, "and once we're back in the land of the living I shall be absolutely _delighted_ to ascertain that the Head of the Auror Office receives a full report of your exploits."

"Yes, sir," Harry said and winced. He could just about imagine Snape's testimony so far. He'd have to count himself lucky if Robards didn't assign him to the Auror Archives permanently as a result. He took a deep breath and followed Snape's lead as they carefully advanced to where the small black stone floated barely a foot above the ground.

"That's definitely the Resurrection Stone," Harry said.

Snape shook his head. "No. It's one _half _of the Resurrection Stone. Observe the sharp edges where the crack used to be."

Harry's stomach cramped. "Then where is the other half?" he asked. "And where is Professor Dumbledore?"

**oooOooo**

Careful observation and an even more cautious examination of this half of the Resurrection Stone yielded no information. They only discovered that while they could touch it without dire consequences, they could not move it, remove it or destroy it.

No matter what they did, the stone remained where it was, floating serenely between asphodel and mint, a tiny black spot in a landscape of greys.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Ascalaphus was Hades' orchardist and the guy who tattled on Persephone eating that pomegranate according to Ancient Greek mythology. Persephone's revenge was to transform him into a screech owl. For more information, please take a look at www DOT theoi DOT com.

_"the subtle science and exact art of potion making" _is part of Snape's First Year speech and thus, canon.


	185. Dyrim

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Dyrim**

At last Harry and Severus sat down a few feet away from the stone. After some arguing, Severus grudgingly agreed that it was unlikely for something awful to happen if Harry were to remove just his left arm from the Invisibility Cloak so that Hedwig could sit with him. The materialised soul of Harry's owl seemed to feel that she had done her job at the moment and didn't show any inclination to lead them anywhere else. She seemed content to coo at Harry soundlessly and to nip at his fingers affectionately.

"Hedwig seems to think that this is where we wanted to go," Harry said, eyeing the broken Resurrection Stone morosely.

"Maybe the Stone is the key … or an anchor to a spell," Severus surmised.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Believe it or not, but that thought has crossed my mind, too. So what do we do now? The Stone won't budge."

"We could try to Summon another soul. This time preferably someone who could _tell_ us what happened to Albus Dumbledore's soul," Snape said with a pointed look at Hedwig. "Not even _I _can bestow speech unto a soul that did not possess this faculty in life."

"Sounds good to me." He rose to his feet and made to reach for the sword. "Would you do the honours or shall I?"

Snape paled and shook his head, the lank strands of his hair flying even under the hood of the Invisibility Cloak. "You don't ever want to see what the blood of a Necromancer can Summon."

"Oh." Harry gulped. "All right."

"However, I suggest that you allow me the honour to wield the blade. Your erstwhile attempt –"

"Uh, I guess you've seen failed suicides that looked prettier?" Harry joked. A flicker of something in the depth of Severus' eyes made Harry draw back. "Shit, you have?"

"Never mind," was the curt reply.

"Right," Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and. "If you would?"

He transferred Hedwig to his shoulder, marvelling at how real, how alive the soul of his childhood companion felt. Then he swallowed hard and held out his left forearm to Severus. "The back of my forearm again, please. Not the tattoo."

Severus inclined his head and carefully drew the sword from its sheath. Before Harry had a chance to blink, a clean, shallow slash across his arm was bleeding freely. Harry winced at the sudden sting of the cut, but it was far less painful than when he'd cut himself to Summon Hedwig.

_Okay_. _We need someone who can talk, someone who can tell us what happened to Dumbledore. Someone who will help us!_

He tried to concentrate on a name. _Who'd be most helpful? Sirius?_ His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Merlin, how he wanted to see Sirius again. _But would he be able to help?_ _Scratch that,_ Harry thought, taking into account the company he was keeping. _Might be weeks of arguing about why I'm with Snape until we get to that point._

_Who else? Moody? Remus? Fred?_ His heart grew tight with longing. There were just too many people he would like to see again. _My mother … Lily … He would probably like to see her. Or would he? Now that he had Hermione?_

Harry shook himself. _Just the person who'll help us most,_ he begged. _Please._

With a crack like a whip, a small creature appeared before them. Large, bat-like ears were flapping with delight and round, bulging eyes were no longer glassy with death, but glowing brightly with renewed adoration. Dobby gave a silent squeal of joy, before he grabbed the seam of the Invisibility Cloak above Harry's injured arm and pulled on it vigorously. The cloak parted, revealing the two travellers.

Dobby was grinning from ear to fluttering ear, and his mouth opened and closed with an amazing speed, but there was no sound at all. Harry imagined that a goldfish in a bowl of Butterbeer might look like this. Utterly blissful in his silence.

"Severus," Harry hissed, torn between happiness and despair at Dobby's silent but profuse expressions of happiness. "What about that bestowing speech act? That would come in really handy right now!"

"Of course." Snape's fingers ran down the bandolier from the top, caressing each bell in turn, until they stopped at the fourth bell. "This is Dyrim," Severus whispered. "A bell that brings back lost words and silences those that should not be spoken."

He plucked the bell from its sheath and rang it once. The sound was short and sweet, like the first notes of a dancing tune, cut off much too soon.

"Harry Potter! Oh, good sir! To meet you again, here! And you're alive, and grown! Quite the young gentleman Harry Potter now is! Oh sir, what joy!" Dobby squeaked and beamed at Harry.

"Dobby," Harry croaked.

And it was very good that his hand was tied to Severus, because he couldn't think of anything but hugging Dobby – staying under the Invisibility Cloak, keeping a good hold on Severus' hand, the mystery of the floating half of the Resurrection Stone – all of that fled from his mind.

"Dobby," he repeated, his voice choked with tears.

And just like Hedwig, the materialised soul of Dobby-the-house-elf, felt just as real as the elf would have felt in life. He was small, tiny. Knobbly. A bit like a puppet come alive.

"I never got the chance to thank you," Harry whispered. "You saved our lives. Hermione's, Ron's, mine."

Dobby's luminous emerald orbs took on a solemn shimmer. "Dobby died a free elf. Is no better way for Dobby to go. And besides, Headmaster Professor Dumbledore Sir needs help of house-elf on this side of things."

The small creature gave a sage nod. "Dobby is needed. Dobby serves."

"But where is Professor Dumbledore, Dobby?" Harry asked, fighting down his impatience.

"Why," Dobby said, surprise colouring his high-pitched voice. "Right here."

The house-elf pointed straight at the floating black pebble of the broken Resurrection Stone.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **To quote from the website of Garth Nix' "Abhorsen" trilogy: _"Dyrim, a musical bell, of clear and pretty tone. Dyrim can return the voice that the Dead have so often lost, but Dyrim can also still a tongue that moves too freely."_


	186. A Trapped Soul

**A Trapped Soul**

"What?!" Harry asked. "Dobby, do you mean to say that Professor Dumbledore's soul is lying over there underneath the Resurrection Stone?"

Dobby cocked his head. "That what it is? Wizards came and put it on him. Since then Professor Dumbledore Sir has not been able to move."

"Who did this?" Severus asked, joining the conversation for the first time. "Who were those wizards?"

Dobby's ears flapped nervously as he bowed to the Potions Master. "That toad woman it was, Professor Snape, sir. And two others." He ducked his head. "Bad wizards," the elf whispered. "They has swords and curvy knives. And silver pipes and one of them gots bells like ..." He looked fearfully at Severus. "Dobby does not know them."

"Umbridge!" Harry exclaimed. "But she's dead! Her death should have broken the curse."

"Unless she did not cast it or it was set up not to depend on an individual's power," Severus said. His black gaze was fixed on the Resurrection Stone.

Harry followed his gaze. It was hard to believe that a _soul_ was trapped under the stone. It was harder to believe that it was Professor Dumbledore who lay there. He didn't know what to think. And he felt … odd. _Choked, somehow._

Harry glanced at Severus. _How much worse must it be for him? To stand next to the soul of a friend he had to kill?_

Snape looked horrible. His lips were white, pressed tightly together. A tiny blue vein pulsed at his temple. Harry remembered this tell-tale sign of Snape about to lose control. He winced at a memory of how he'd almost enjoyed goading Snape until he had … well, _snapped._

"Sir?" Harry asked carefully. "Are there Necromancers among the Death Eaters?"

Severus didn't look at him. When he spoke, his voice sounded very much like Harry felt: choked. "No. No. Of course Voldemort would have loved to have a Raiser in his pocket. But there was only I, the Binder, whom he never quite trusted. And Quirrell – and Quirrell never was a Death Eater as such, merely unfortunate. Though fortunate enough in his timely death." Snape shuddered. It was obvious that he had to force himself to face Harry. When he did, his eyes had a glazed look.

"Before we came here," Severus said softly, "I had a strange suspicion concerning all that has happened. But if Umbridge was _here_ –" He shook his head. "If Umbridge was _here_, with _them_ … It just doesn't make sense. I must be missing something." He blinked, as if he had to struggle to really _see_ Harry. "I suppose it _is_ possible that Necromancers have joined that elusive new organization formed by those renegade Death Eaters."

Harry nodded. "Umbridge definitely had the personality to fancy herself the new Dark Lady. She had access to all kinds of resources at the Ministry. And we have no idea who joined that new organization. Or how many. They are too damn good at hiding."

He took a step. A sharp tug at his wrist and a muffled oath reminded him that he was still tied to Severus and that he couldn't just start pacing. "Damn," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"If you think it will help, I'd be willing to join you in pacing."

Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead. "Probably not." He sighed. "Is there really no way of discovering the nature of this curse and how to break it?"

"Professor Dumbledore Sir says that stones is being used to store magical energy that is being leeched off from somewhere else – _someones_ else," Dobby piped up. "Professor Dumbledore Sir says that the magic is not being used," he added. His ears flattened against his skull. "Professor Dumbledore Sir says that the curse will eventually become unstable and collapse," Dobby whispered. "And then … and then … bad things will happen … bad, bad things …" He dropped on his knees, hid his face in his hands and proceeded to rock back and forth. "Oh, oh, oh!" he moaned. _"Oh, oh, oh!" _He appeared to be literally scared out of his wits.

"Dobby, STOP THAT!" Harry shouted. He reached for the elf at the same moment as Snape did. For a second they stared at each other. Then Harry picked the distraught elf up and hugged him close. He'd never done this while elf was alive. Holding him for the second time, now, here, made him regret that even more. Finally Dobby stopped sniffling and Harry released him.

"You said that Professor Dumbledore can't move," Harry asked. "If that's the case, how can you_talk_ to him?"

Dobby blinked at Harry and shook his head a little. "Harry Potter is not knowing much about souls, is he? I is not needing to speak in order to talk to Professor Dumbledore Sir. We is _dead_. We don't need words anymore."

"What kind of bad things will happen?" Harry pressed.

Dobby only moaned.

"What do you think will happen, when the halves of the Resurrection Stone reach the limit of their capacity?" Snape asked impatiently.

"They might … _umm_ … explode?"

"Excellent exercise of logical reasoning," Severus snapped. "Indeed, they _will _explode. Along with everything around them. And I mean _everything."_

Harry gulped. "Are you sure?"

"I can _promise_ you that a big bang on both sides of the Veil will do nothing for the continued existence of an orderly space-time continuum." Snape turned to Dobby. "How can the curse be broken? How much time do we have to break it?"

"Professor Dumbledore Sir says that you have to bring the other half of the Stone and put it together again," Dobby replied.

"And that will break the curse? So there will be no explosion and Professor Dumbledore will be able to move again?" Harry asked hopefully.

Dobby's ears drooped even lower, until their pointy tips touched his bony little shoulders. "No, Harry Potter. I is so very sorry. But Professor Dumbledore Sir says it doesn't work quite like that."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to Aranel for reading over difficult scenes and for putting up patiently with my whining.


	187. Questions …

**Questions …**

"Then how _does_ it work?" Harry demanded.

"Professor Dumbledore Sir says you will has need the Elder Wand. Then one of you must use Elder Wand to make whole Stone. And you must wear the Cloak. Then all –" Dobby's voice quavered, "will be well."

"What does he mean with that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore hadn't been precisely forthcoming with information that was in any way complete in life. And the conversation they'd had in the train station that apparently constituted his personal, subjective dimension of Death, well … he'd wanted _everything_ to be over _so much_ … Harry knew he hadn't paid enough attention to what was said. That was something he'd come to regret bitterly in the following months, as he struggled to remember, to understand, to … _cope._

Harry glanced at Snape. The sharp crease between his brows indicated that he wasn't happy with Dobby's explanation either. Harry experienced a surprising surge of gratitude. _Snape may be a pain in the arse,_ he thought,_ but … I do trust him._

Dobby cocked his head and narrowed his eyes to wrinkly, thoughtful slits. Souls might have no need of words, but obviously the concepts Dumbledore wanted to convey were seriously taxing the house-elf's abilities to translate them into complete sentences.

"Professor Dumbledore Sir is making Dobby's head hurt," the house-elf wailed.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "How is that even possible?" he asked. "You're dead."

Dobby's face screwed up. "Dobby is not knowing, Harry Potter, sir. But is. _Is, is, is."_

Next to Harry, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and silently shook his head. Harry sighed. "Look, just try. We'll figure it out. It doesn't have to be a perfect explanation, okay, Dobby?"

The elf sniffled and gave Harry a watery smile. "Harry Potter is such a great wizard, sir. Such a great, great wizard."

Next to Harry, Snape stifled a sound caught somewhere between a snort and laughter. "Thank you, Dobby," Harry said. "Would you try explaining to us what Dumbledore told you now?"

"Yes, Dobby is will try." The house-elf nodded vigorously. "Is merging death with death. Is _abs-_ absorbing life. Is … dissolution. Is … liberation. The ultimate equation."

"Right," Harry said and tried to fight the mad urge to pound his head on the ground in house-elf-fashion. "I have absolutely no idea what that's supposed to mean."

Dobby suddenly looked at Snape. "Professor Dumbledore Sir says that Professor Snape Sir will understand. I is supposed to say …" He screwed up his face again in intense concentration, then rattled off something that sounded like a quotation: _"Like a flame blown out by a strong wind goes to rest and cannot be defined, a mind freed from soul and body goes to rest and cannot be defined. For him who has gone to rest there is no measure and no means to describe him; that is not for him. When all has gone, all signs of recognition have also gone."_

Harry turned to Severus. "Do you understand that, sir?"

Snape stared at the Resurrection Stone. After a while he replied, his voice very soft, "Yes, I … do understand. You may recall that we – he and I – had an argument pertaining … souls. What you saw, in that particular memory, was neither the beginning nor the end of the argument. Though certainly a highlight." His thin lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Dumbledore is talking about what certain Muggle religions refer to as _'nirvana'_ or _'moksa'_. The dissolution of the immortal soul, the final dispersion of mind, soul and body."

At last he sighed and turned to face Harry. When he spoke again, he sounded incredibly weary, "To put it bluntly – I get to _'kill'_ Dumbledore all over again."

**oooOooo**

Harry's reaction proved once more how much the young wizard had matured during the last three years. He didn't shout, rant or jerk violently away from him. He _did_ flinch and his face went very pale. But apart from that he kept calm, his jaws set.

At last Harry muttered, "Why couldn't she pick someone else? Like Voldemort, for example. Or Grindelwald. I wouldn't have given a rat's arse about their souls. No, it _had_ to be Dumbledore."

"I expect Dolores Umbridge was the kind of person to bear a grudge," Severus commented.

Harry snorted. "You can say that again." His gaze strayed to the Resurrection Stone. _"Bloody hell."_

Severus must have tugged at their joined hands unconsciously.

"If you need to pace …" Harry echoed Severus' earlier offer.

"As a matter of fact," he admitted, "I would appreciate that. There are numerous questions we have to discuss yet. I _do_ need to think."

They marched a few paces, Severus in the lead, Dobby trudging along behind them, then stopped. When they turned, Harry winced. Severus paused, frowning. "Is something the matter?"

"Well," Harry said with a sheepish expression. "The new cut's quite shallow, sir. But it does sting when my sleeve rubs over it."

"Why didn't you say something?" Severus asked irritably. "Hold out your arm and let me heal that."

"Thanks."

They continued pacing in tense silence, circling the Resurrection Stone repeatedly.

At last Severus began to fire off questions with every step. Step, question, step, question, an incessant rhythm: "Why did Umbridge set up the leeching spell like that? Did she _intend_ to destroy the known universe or was she just too damn dim-witted to set up her own curse properly? Who were the Necromancers with her? Where did she find them? How did she make them help her? Or …" He halted suddenly. "How did _they_ force _her_ to help them?"

"Last but not least," Harry put in helpfully, "Where are the other half of the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand? Oh, and when we're already at it … _who_ is currently the Owner of the Elder Wand?" Then he added dryly, "And once we've answered all of _those_ questions, I'd be curious about how you turn stone into gold."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The quotation is a paraphrased version of the "Sutta Nipāta", as translated by Rune Johansson.


	188. … And Answers

**… And Answers**

Later Harry wasn't able to say how much time they'd spent quizzing Dumbledore via Dobby about all of these questions and a score of others. It could have been hours, but he wouldn't be surprised if they'd spent days or even weeks at it. When they were done, Dobby looked as grey as the vegetation of the Asphodel Meadows, and Harry had a headache the size of Hogwarts. _But at least,_ he figured, _they had managed to clear up the most salient questions. Sort of._

Professor Dumbledore wasn't quite sure, but he believed that when the curse that paralysed him had been set up originally, it was meant to use his immortal soul as a container for the magical energy leeched from the Muggle-born witches and wizards. At that time, the Resurrection Stones had acted as mere valves or conductors. They had only channelled the stolen magical energy. But then the curse had been manipulated, turning the two halves of the Resurrection Stone into _vessels_. For a time, enough of the stored energy had been used to keep the curse stable. But – probably since Umbridge had died – no magic was drained from the Stone anymore. Eventually the Stone would reach the limit of its capacity, and as Dobby put it, _'bad things'_ would happen. Though when exactly that would be the case remained everybody's guess. Probably not within days. But they might not have a week to waste.

Dumbledore had no idea who the Necromancers were, or how they had found him. Apparently, time and space had little meaning for souls, which made it difficult for Dumbledore to even keep the sequence of events in order.

He also did not know where the other half of the Resurrection Stone or the Elder Wand was, though he guessed that Umbridge had somehow gained possession of both items.

And he refused to answer Harry's question about how to turn stone into gold or to comment when Harry asked him about how much damage a man's soul might be able to withstand.

**oooOooo**

"Well," Harry muttered at last. "I think we're done here for the time being. We should get back to the Gate."

"I certainly have no objections to that suggestion," Snape replied wearily. Deep shadows bruised his eyes and his face was about as pale as the asphodel blossoms.

"Uh, sir? Would you mind bending down a little?"

Severus frowned, but he followed Harry's request. Harry knelt down and hugged Dobby once more. "Thank you for your help, Dobby. We'll be back."

"Oh, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby sniffled. "Such joy! Such happiness!"

Harry got to his feet again and stared at the Resurrection Stone where it floated almost unnoticeable among the sprawling mint-bushes and the flowering asphodels.

"Good-bye, Professor Dumbledore." He didn't know what else to say. It hurt to realise that if he were able to talk to Dumbledore face to face here and now, he might not be able to forgive him as quickly as he had been in the half-imagined train station of his personal death.

Next to him, Snape looked down his nose at Dobby. To Harry's surprise, Severus looked almost kindly upon the elf. "Thank you for most gracious service."

Dobby glanced up timidly. "Such honour, sir!" he squeaked and positively flattened himself on the ground in an expression of elfish delight. "Such honour!"

Then Severus followed Harry's example and turned to the Resurrection Stone. Again Harry noticed how the spidery blue vein at the older man's temple pulsed with barely suppressed agitation.

"Dumbledore," Severus said at last, his voice cracking slightly, the soft-spoken illusion of composure slipping at last. "I have received the Christmas gift you sent me. I … do appreciate it … Though now I have to wonder quite how often you expect my soul to rise like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes you seem so determined to reduce me to." Then he whirled around and snapped at Harry, "Don't stand there, gaping. Send off that damn owl to show us the way back to the Gate."

**oooOooo**

Harry was weary to the bones when the lone archway of the Gate finally appeared in the distance. He was, pun entirely intended, _tired to death._ And Snape seemed to be in no better shape. Since they'd turned their backs on the Resurrection Stone, he hadn't said another word, while they trudged mile after mile through the silent gloaming of the Asphodel Meadows. Relief mixed with regret surged through him as he watched Hedwig soar into the grey sky above the Gate and disappear. But all in all he was more than ready to return to the lands of the living.

It was probably this mixture of exhaustion and anticipation that distracted him. When Snape stopped abruptly, Harry staggered. "What's the matter? We're nearly there!"

"Don't you hear that?" Severus whispered urgently.

"What?" Then Harry's heart skipped a beat before starting to race with terror.

Apart from the voice bestowed upon Dobby by Snape's Necromancy and the soft swish of Hedwig's wings, Death had been completely and utterly silent so far.

Now it was silent no longer.

The strange, strangled sound of a hurdy-gurdy flowed over the plains in endless, droning chromatics.

As they approached the Gate, suddenly a figure stepped out of the shadows of the archway. It appeared to be an old man, but Harry couldn't be sure – the haggard features of the person before them remained hidden in the gloom that surrounded them. He was tall and thin, but he stood bent over forwards with a painfully crooked back. His fingers were spidery, long, thin and deathly white, as they danced over the keyboard, pressing down the tangents to produce his weird, sonorous melody. He was dressed in the remains of a ragged black cloak that barely covered his bony shoulders and hunched back.

Suddenly the music stopped, and the figure lowered the instrument.

"You have something that belongs to me," a reedy voice rasped. "And I would like to have it back."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **A hurdy gurdy (also known as a "wheel fiddle") is a stringed musical instrument in which the strings are sounded by means of a rosined wheel which the strings of the instrument pass over. This wheel, turned with a crank, functions much like a violin bow, making the instrument essentially a mechanical violin. Melodies are played on a keyboard that presses _tangents_ (small wedges, usually made of wood) against one or more of these strings to change their pitch. Like most other acoustic string instruments, it has a soundboard to make the vibration of the strings audible. (source: Wikipedia)

More background information about the last scene of this chapter may be found on my LiveJournal:  
http _colon slash slash_ juno-magic _dot_ livejournal _dot_ com _slash_ 409525.html


	189. A Deal With Death

**A Deal With Death**

"Either we're both suffering from a very elaborate hallucination, or Dumbledore was wrong about that one, too," Harry said, his voice shaking. "I guess we should have been more careful about not taking off that cloak."

"Harry," Severus said very softly. "Dear. Would you consider doing us a favour?"

Harry gulped. "Yes?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" Severus snarled. _"Now!"_ Then he took a step forwards while thrusting his left arm backwards, pushing Harry out of the way and effectively putting himself between Harry and Death.

"Sir." Severus bowed deeply.

"You know each other?" Harry squeaked, his voice a fair imitation of Dobby.

"He's a bit stupid, isn't he?" Death remarked conversationally. "I used to imagine that The-Boy-Who-Lived was a bit smarter."

Strangely enough, Snape didn't agree. Instead he remained silent and shifted his weight unobtrusively, turning just a little, thus ensuring that he stayed right in front of Harry – even though that had to be an extremely uncomfortable position, with his arm wrenched backwards like that. Harry stayed where he was. (There wasn't much else he could do, after all.) But he tried to take a closer look at the figure before them. Although he couldn't see much, Harry imagined that within the shadows of the creature's face a pair of unfathomable, lifeless black eyes were fixed on him.

"Harry Potter," Death whispered. "How _good_ to see you again. And I see you've got my cloak with you. How convenient."

Harry shivered. So far he hadn't paid attention to the temperature in this land of death and twilight. But now he was cold. Very, very cold. His breath formed a cloud in front of his face and he noticed white tendrils of frost creeping over Severus' black hair. And there, in the darkness behind Death – what was that? A large, scruffy black dog, or just another shadow? Was that the hell-hound of Trelawney's predictions, the real Grim? Or was it, could it possibly be … _Sirius?_ But if it _was_ Snuffles, he'd help them, wouldn't he?

"As for your question," Death continued, his voice an icy breeze. "Why wouldn't I know one of my own? For all he's a wizard, Severus is a Necromancer first. Talking of wizards –" The dark figure moved forwards, and although Snape instantly took a step of his own – backwards – Harry felt a terrible weakness overcome him. He was so cold that his joints were growing stiff. It was hard to manage even that one faltering step backwards. His knees wouldn't last much longer.

"Is he –" Harry gasped, "Is he for real?"

When Snape replied, he kept his voice so low that it was almost inaudible, "Does it matter if he's a hallucination we happen to share, Death personified or the materialised dregs of the accumulated subconscious of all magical and Muggle souls that have passed through this archway over the course of millennia? He's between us and that Gate!"

"Actually," Death whispered and glided closer still. "This is how a German composer of the 18th and early 19th century envisioned me. One Franz Schubert. He died of typhoid with a dash of mercury poisoning, though even without that, his syphilis would have killed him off shortly. A very … uncomfortable death. Though he didn't even seem to mind …"

Death smiled.

Harry slumped down onto the ground. He simply wasn't strong enough to stay on his feet a moment longer. Still Severus shielded him with his body. Though Harry wondered how much help that would be if the figure before them really _was_ Death Personified.

"Wizards: the bane of my existence." Death sounded disgusted, and Harry realised that it was getting hard for him to breathe properly. "Philosopher Stones, Resurrection Stones, Hallows, Horcruxes and assorted bits of soul magic ... Contrary to what _some of you_ seem to think, this is _not_ a train station. Muggles (with rare, _very rare_ exceptions) at least have the good sense to stay put, once they have passed. And now hand over my cloak, if you please."

Severus cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and thin, almost like he'd sounded when he first woke from the coma he'd endured following Nagini's attack. "We'd be happy to hand over the cloak – were it not for the minor matter of a curse pertaining to your … domain, sir."

"Ah, yes. I listened to the old wizard's explanation. It seems you need all three of my Hallows to stave off a cosmic calamity," Death purred. "You want to prevent the untimely demise of a few thousand Muggle-born wizards and witches, men, women and children and two magical explosions of possibly cataclysmic consequences. In other words, you want to answer the question of _'Who is stronger than Death?'_ with _'Me, evidently'_. I must confess, I am intrigued."

Harry lay helpless on the ground, shivering uncontrollably. For some reason he had to think of the flayed, shuddering baby-soul he had seen in that personal, train-station vision of death he'd visited three years ago. Suddenly he realised that the magical thongs that tethered him securely to Severus were gone. Panic washed over him. _Don't leave me here,_ he thought frantically. _Don't just leave me like this._

When Severus' grasp around his hand tightened almost painfully, he almost sobbed with relief.

"How about a deal?" Death suggested. "But you must decide quickly. Mortals cannot bear my presence for very long without succumbing to my power. I let you go. I let you come back. You get rid of that little curse. Then you give me all _three_ of my Hallows. And _then_ – why, I just _might_ let you go _again."_

The hurdy-gurdy started playing again now, its strange droning, dissonant melody was grinding into Harry's bones with each turn of the crank.

"We have no choice," Severus whispered.

"Yes," Harry wheezed. "It's a deal. You can have a wand oath if you want."

"Ah," murmured Death. "That won't be necessary. Remember, I have always known when you will return."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **A hurdy-gurdy is a stringed musical instrument in which the strings are sounded by means of a rosined wheel which the strings of the instrument pass over. This wheel, turned with a crank, functions much like a violin bow, making the instrument essentially a mechanical violin. Melodies are played on a keyboard that presses tangents (small wedges, usually made of wood) against one or more of these strings to change their pitch. Like most other acoustic string instruments, it has a soundboard to make the vibration of the strings audible (source: Wikipedia). If you're interested in hearing what a hurdy-gurdy sounds like, search "hurdy gurdy" at YouTube. 

More background information about my version of Death personified as portrayed in the song "The Organ Grinder" by Franz Schubert may be found on my LiveJournal:  
http _colon slash slash_ juno-magic _dot_ livejournal _dot_ com _slash_ 409525.html

The question and answer Death refers to are quotes from the poem "Examination at the Womb-Door" by Ted Hughes.


	190. At Death's Door

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**At Death's Door**

The night pressed in on Hermione, cold, damp and dark.

Now there was nothing she could do but wait.

She slid down on the ground until she sat cross-legged on the white stone. Her hands rested on her knees, palms turned upwards, fingers lightly curled around her wands. With her eyes closed, she concentrated on the barely discernible pulse of the connection that hummed through her wands. It felt like the distant echo of a heartbeat.

_They were still there. Somewhere._

Hermione shivered with cold and weariness. And waited.

**oooOooo**

"One of the most powerful wizards alive, my arse," muttered Severus and pulled at Harry's hand. Harry lay collapsed on the ground, curled around his right and Severus' left hand, as if that was all that kept him alive. Maybe it was. "Get off your damn arse, Harry, or you won't be alive much longer!" Severus snarled. "Dammit, are you The-Boy-Who-Lived to be an eternal pain in my arse or not? Get UP!"

The melody of the hurdy-gurdy wound itself around his throat, tighter and tighter as Death turned the wheel faster and faster. As the tempo of the tune picked up, Severus began to shake, his muscles seizing up. He wouldn't last much longer.

He thrust his wand into the bandolier with the bells and groped for the key inside his robe. For an endless, frightening second he feared that he had lost it. Then his fingers curled around the shaft of the key. He tugged feebly at it. It was an effort to remove it from the pocket. The song of the hurdy-gurdy seemed to dance around him, sounds similar to a violin and a bagpipe, an incessant see-sawing that was draining his energy and bringing him down on his knees.

"Up, Harry," he rasped. "One last time, get the _fuck_ up on your feet!"

This time he jerked at Harry's hand with all his strength. Somehow Harry scrambled to his feet. He staggered, then stumbled into Severus' arms. He clutched at Severus with his left hand, while never letting go with his right.

The impact almost sent both of them sprawling on the ground. Clinging to each other in a desperate embrace they tottered – lurched – reeled – a grotesque dance to the tune Death was grinding out, until they collided with the Gate.

Distantly, Severus realised that the wood of the Gate was made of white poplar. The tree that transcends fear. Black poplar for death and lost hope. White poplar for resurrection and hope assured.

He fumbled for the key. He could feel that Harry's knees were giving way again. And this time, he didn't have enough strength left to haul the younger man back onto his feet. The melody of the hurdy-gurdy twirled and skipped around them. Severus could have sworn that Death was laughing at them.

There, the keyhole!

His hand was shaking too hard. He missed the hole. Once, twice, three times the key scratched over the fittings.

He pressed his forehead against the Gate. His leg-muscles were quivering with exhaustion, every breath cost him supreme effort. Potter leant against him heavily, dragging him down.

_Not quite yet,_ Severus thought. _I'll be _damned_ if I lie down and die right in front of the Gate. If we have to die, we'll do it on the other side, just out of spite._

The key slid into the hole.

With a desperate wrench, he twisted it around.

Severus turned his head for a last glance at Death. Death was looming behind them, still grinding his instrument laboriously, but at a slower pace. Next to Death the silhouette of a large black dog was barely visible in the gloom.

"For heaven's sake, why don't you get a guitar?" Severus rasped.

Then his legs gave out under him, the door opened and they fell through the opening, hitting the ground hard.

**oooOooo**

When Severus regained consciousness, he lay on a cold, hard surface. Stone, he realised. Granite, from the smell of it. Someone – oh, Merlin – _Harry Potter_ lay sprawled across him, still clutching his left hand in a death grip.

But he was not dead. Severus could feel the rise and fall of his breath against his chest. The-Boy-Who-Lived had _lived_ up to his nickname all over again.

"Get off me," Severus coughed and shoved weakly at Harry's prone body.

_"Nrgh." _Harry just tightened his hold.

"I'm not your teddy-bear, boy," Severus growled. He pushed at Harry again and sighed with satisfaction, when the wizard rolled off him and landed with a thump on the floor of the Death Chamber.

The effort made him dizzy, the chamber spun around him in streaks of black and red.

"We've given them fifteen minutes," a voice floated down to him. "They should be gone now. We should set up a watch, so someone is there if – _when_ – they … Severus? Harry? Why are you still – You're back? Already? " Minerva McGonagall's rolling contralto soared to a squeaky soprano. "Andromeda, get the healers down there! Now! They're back, and they look more dead than alive!"

Severus tried to sit up and to extricate his hand from Potter's – he didn't need healers, he'd had enough of healers to last him three life-times – but he discovered that he was too weak. Steps clattered closer. A moment later he felt how someone lifted him a little, until his head rested on someone's lap. He found himself looking up into Minerva's piercing blue-grey eyes.

"You made it, Severus, you're back! The healers will be here in a jiffy," she murmured almost tenderly. "Don't worry."

He thought he'd only blinked. But his head felt fuzzy as if he'd lost consciousness again.

"Do you hear that, Severus? Harry's already arguing with Poppy over there. Everything will be all right."

Severus wished he had the strength to laugh at that statement. Instead he only coughed, then croaked weakly, "Hermione. She'll be worried."

The witch had the nerve to stroke his hair back gently. "Don't worry, Severus. Hermione's already on the way."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Information about the mythological context of poplars may be found online at the Theoi website or at "Witch in the Wood".

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	191. Precious

**Precious**

When Severus cracked his eyes open, the first thing he saw was Hermione. _Hermione!_

She sat cross-legged on her half of the bed, watching him intently. Her choice of dress was absurd: green leggings, hand-knit woollen socks in stripes of green and black, and one of his black shirts. She was wearing _his_ colours! Her cropped curls formed an unruly brown halo around her head and emphasized the bony angles of her thin face.

She looked impossibly young. And fragile.

"You're awake," she whispered. "Thank God, you're okay."

She crawled towards him on hands and knees and lowered her lips to his. The first touch of her mouth was careful, tentative, as if she was afraid of hurting him. But when he opened his lips, her kiss instantly deepened. She fed at his lips almost feverishly, as if his kiss was _manna_, and salvation from starving to death in the desert.

When she raised her head and smiled down at him, only one word came to his dazed mind that could describe her expression: _joy._

Pure, radiant joy.

**oooOooo**

"So Dumbledore was wrong? About Death, I mean."

She could not stop touching him. Again and again her hand drifted over his arm, across his chest, to his stomach. The back of her curled fingers followed his collarbone. Fingertips traced his jaws … He even permitted her to smooth back his hair, to gently stroke his cheek.

They both needed to feel the other. The touch of skin on skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, each breath palpable, the first stickiness of sweat, of legs curled around each other under the thick duvet.

"Not necessarily," Severus murmured.

While Hermione kept reassuring herself that he was still in one piece, running her hands all over every part of his body she could reach, he had manoeuvred one hand under her head, while the other rested on her waist, so he could easily pull her closer still, should the need arise.

"How can you say that after –"

"After meeting Death Personified?" He tightened his embrace. The curls at the apex of her thighs brushed against him intimately, and he felt the faintest stir of desire. She lay as close to him as humanly possible without a complete physical union of their bodies. Somewhat to his surprise, Severus experienced a keen pang of regret because he was still too weak for sex. Hermione burrowed against him and shuddered. When he angled up her chin, she did not resist and allowed him to see her tears.

"Hush," he sighed and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm here, I'm here."

"I know," she whispered. She tilted her head back on the pillow to watch his face more comfortably. His fingers cupped her cheek and her breath flowed gently against the heel of his hand. "I'm being silly."

"Not silly," he protested without thinking. Suddenly his throat grew painfully tight. He closed his eyes for a moment as he struggled with the word that was foremost in his mind.

_"Precious."_

He cleared his throat. "About Death – the figure or the phenomenon, which we encountered beyond the Veil may very well be nothing but an accumulation of magical energy. A manifestation of the remnants of magic that are stripped from the souls of the dead when they are sucked through the Ninth Gate."

When Hermione blinked, obviously confused, he smirked. "I'm feeling generous today, so I'll give you a clue: You have lived with two similar manifestations for the last ten years."

"A clue?" She brought up her hand, pretending to feel his temperature with the back of her hand pressed against his brow. "Are you sure you're feeling better, Severus?"

Her fingers began to smooth away the lines on his forehead. Moving in tiny circles, her thumb massaged the vertical lines entrenched above the bridge of his nose.

_"Hmm…"_

He tried to concentrate on her face, how she wrinkled her nose in thought, the light dusting of freckles, those beautiful brown eyes … he must have dozed off nevertheless.

"Ha!" Hermione exclaimed. Her bright voice jolted him awake with a gasp.

"Peeves!" Her voice vibrated with satisfaction. _"And Hogwarts itself,"_ she added. "Peeves was easy. But you had me stumped with the second manifestation. For a moment I thought Dementors might be … but we did not really live with them. And while Boggarts have certainly a connection to the magic of individual witches and wizards around them, they are just ordinary wights. But then I remembered the epitaphs."

Hogwarts _– the castle itself –_ had produced epitaphs wherever someone had died during the Final Battle.

"So Death Personified is the essence of our magic and not a real mythological – no wait, that isn't quite right either …" She frowned at the contradiction of a _'real mythological figure'._

Severus smiled; he wasn't surprised that Hermione preferred a scientific explanation. "No matter what the explanation for his existence may be, He is certainly _real."_

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "And even if He was not real at all, we'd still have to find the second half of the Resurrection Stone _and_ the Elder Wand in order to break that curse." She lowered her head to hide her face at his chest. Her breath tickled his skin. He inhaled sharply as his nipple reacted to the sensation.

_Break the curse …_

All pleasure fled from his body. _Dumbledore._

He squeezed his eyes shut although he knew that such infantile gestures were useless to keep memories at bay.

_"Severus … Severus … please …"_

He shuddered.

"Severus?" Concern darkened Hermione's voice as she hugged him close. "What is it, love? What's wrong?"

He knew it was inconsiderate to burden her with his maudlin pangs of conscience. But somehow the words spilt from his lips before he could stop himself.

"Wasn't it enough that I had to kill him, Hermione? Is it not enough that I have to live with the guilt for taking his _life?_ Now I'm supposed to take his _soul,_ too?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **_"Severus … Severus … please …" _is from HBP. 


	192. Magical Forensics

**Magical Forensics**

Harry cleared his throat. He looked nervous. This was the first Order meeting he was allowed to conduct since he'd been made Deputy Head.

Hermione smiled at him in encouragement, hoping that her smile would not betray the voice inside her head that ranted, _"For God's sake, Harry, get ON with it!"_

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Madam Minister." He bowed to Andromeda Tonks-Black. The acting Minister for Magic sat in the place of honour at the end of the long table, together with Minerva McGonagall. Tonight Fleur was taking care of Teddy, so Draco was present as well. He sat next his aunt; stiffly, obviously uncomfortable, staring straight ahead.

Not for the first time Hermione wondered what the relationship between Draco and his aunt was like. Or, for that matter, the relationship between him and his parents. About a year from now his parents' probation would end and he'd be allowed to contact them again. But would he?

Harry had finally finished greeting the special guests that attended this meeting, among them Healer Mugwort, Madame Dubois and Lois. "… The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Unspeakables have concluded their investigations of the deaths of the late Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the head of the Registry Office, Dolores Umbridge. Specialists at St. Mungo's have examined the bodies and provided a final report as well." He shifted uncomfortably.

_If I were a Muggle,_ Hermione thought, _I'd be tempted to use a clichéd phrase and say that Harry looks as if he's seen a ghost. What is so terrible about the results of those examinations?_

"Well." Harry reshuffled the papers in front of him for the third time. Then he took a deep breath. "Umbridge was not killed with magic. Her death was the result of an overdose of Muggle drugs, cocaine and heroin. A Muggle syringe was used –" He flicked his wand at the silver screen in front of the tables and a picture of the instrument in question appeared. "– to inject the mixture directly into her bloodstream. She must have died within just a few minutes."

A wave of whispers flowed through the room. The faces of the purebloods present showed a mixture of shock and revulsion, while the Muggle-borns and half-bloods looked rather bewildered as they stared at the screen.

"We have no idea who killed her," Harry went on. "Draco was the last person to see her alive. He saw her walking towards the visitors' entrance just before he left the Ministry. We must assume that she went to meet her killer. Since he or she used the visitors' entrance from Muggle London and since Muggle means were used to kill Umbridge, it seems likely that her killer was Muggle. At the very least it must be someone who is extremely familiar with the Muggle world.  
"The problem is that while many wizards and witches have a reason for wanting to kill Umbridge because of her activities during the term of office of Thicknesse, we have no lead on why a Muggle would want to kill her – and how they would know enough about our world to actually execute such a plan."

Hermione felt Severus tense beside her. More would have to be said about Umbridge yet tonight.

"The Minister for Magic –" Harry paused and swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed. "The late Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt was killed at the beginning of December, probably around the 6th. Since there were no wounds, the specialists at St. Mungo's believe he was killed with magic. However, since he never left the Ministry between his death and Umbridge's death, we can rule out an Unforgivable. The casting of any Unforgivable would have triggered the defences of the Ministry and raised alarms. Additionally, we can assume that the wand that was used against him must be registered with the Ministry, or the wards and the alarms would have prevented his death or at least led to the capture of his murderer."

Harry fell silent again. He was staring down at the pile of parchment in front of him, teeth clenched, as if he had to fight down a surge of nausea. Hermione didn't have to turn her head to know that Severus was frowning.

"When … the late Minister of Magic collapsed on New Year's Eve, he …" Harry swallowed visibly once more. "… his body had been raised from the dead as an _Inferius."_ He held up his hand to forestall any arguments. "The specialists at St. Mungo's were able to identify the ingredients of an unknown potion in the tissues of the body. The main ingredient of this potion is jarvey musk. Apparently this potion, in conjunction with a modified version of the ritual for raising _Inferi,_ has accomplished what has been thought impossible so far: to bestow speech upon _Inferi."_

"Oh God," Hermione gasped. "Colin!"

Harry nodded. "Based on the report from St. Mungo's, I believe that the raising of Colin Creevey was an experiment with that jarvey potion. It's impossible to say if the potion was still faulty at that point, or if the date – Halloween – counteracted the modified ritual. But it must have been the same kind of magic that first got Colin speaking again."

His hand strayed to the scar on his forehead. Pale as he was, it stood out clearly tonight. And the bright colours of the tattoos on his hands appeared almost garish.

"There's more," Harry said. "The Unspeakables managed to trace the spell that animated the – the body. To Umbridge. But the power, the magical energy that fuelled the spell – was not Umbridge's. In fact, it doesn't seem to originate from this world or this plane of existence at all."

_Oh God,_ Hermione thought. _So that's what Umbridge has been doing with the stolen magic! _She shuddered. Her stomach constricted. And she could see from the way the muscles in Harry's jaws tightened that he was not yet at the end of his report …

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter refers to many previous chapters, for example: chapters 119ff - the Colin Creevey incident; chapters 143, 145 and 146, which detail the annual Chess Championship at the Ministry of Magic and chapter 171, in which Draco catches that last glance at Umbridge.


	193. Umbridge Unravelled?

**Umbridge Unravelled?**

"Once the spell that animated the body was broken, the released power devoured it. Basically …" Harry swallowed again. He was quite green around the edges. Hermione wondered if the report had pictures. She didn't even want to _imagine _wizarding photographs of what Harry described.

"The body decomposed completely within just a few hours. When nothing was left, the remaining energy went up in a magical explosion. Luckily it was contained by the strong wards of the forensics facility at St. Mungo's. There was only one casualty. Unfortunately the Healer who was working on the case was killed."

Hermione suppressed another gasp. The magical energy contained by the two halves of the Resurrection Stones was just as volatile and dangerous as Harry and Severus feared.

"This brings me to the second part of my report," Harry said and firmly moved the stack of parchments aside. "Severus and I went beyond the Veil last Friday. We entered the Realm of Death to discover the cause of the paralysis of Albus Dumbledore's portrait and to find out if and how this phenomenon is connected with the leeching curse. The curse uses the magical tattoos that were designed as a protection for witches and wizards with Muggle ancestry is gradually draining their magic and killing them. At the moment at least twenty deaths have to be attributed to the effects of that curse."

"Twenty-one," Mugwort put in. "Little Maybeth Ellersfield died this morning."

"Oh no," Hermione whispered. Maybeth's twin-sister, Leonore, had died of bronchitis only last week.

"Twenty-one deaths then," Harry repeated. He took another deep breath. Hermione realised how much her friend had changed since the Final Battle. She could see how he struggled to keep his emotions in check – deep breaths, nervous gestures, how his jaw muscles tensed. But he did manage to keep reasonably calm and provide a succinct report. Well, she mused, he is supposed to be an Auror nowadays …

"… thanks to the Sempiternal Solution researched by Hermione and brewed by her and her husband, Severus and I were able to complete this task successfully.

"With the aid of the souls of my old owl and Dobby –"

Draco started. A shadow seemed to darken his bright grey eyes.

Harry went on. "– we were able to find the paralysed soul of Albus Dumbledore and communicate with him."

Harry continued, explaining everything Dumbledore had told them about the leeching curse and the two halves of the Resurrection Stone. Disregarding the whispers and murmured expressions of shock and disbelief among the audience, he finished: "If we don't manage to break that curse in time, there will be two enormous magical explosions. One of them will occur here – that is, wherever Umbridge has hidden the other half of the Resurrection Stone –, the other beyond the Veil. We have no idea how devastating the consequences of those explosions will be. I for one am loath to find out."

"I'm absolutely with you on that, mate," Ron muttered. "Lucky for us that Dumbledore knows how to break that curse. Sly old codger, dead or alive, that one."

Andromeda spoke up, "So what are the next steps?"

"We have to find the Elder Wand and determine its current Owner. And we have to discover the hiding place of the second half of the Resurrection Stone," Severus replied, smoothly taking over from Harry who was beginning to look more than a little exhausted. "As soon as possible, since we have no means to determine just when the limit of the capacity of the Stone will be reached."

"Umbridge's wand is the Elder Wand," Draco said suddenly, his voice deep with conviction. "I'm sure of it. That's the only reasonable explanation for that revolting Colouring Charm she used on her wand. She was damn lucky those Weasleys' Wheezes created that wand decorating fad."

"But even if the Elder Wand is already in our possession – what about its ownership?" asked Minerva, nervously adjusting her glasses. "We know the Elder Wand needs to be wielded by its rightful Owner to unleash its full power. Who is this Owner now? And how do we find him?"

"First we need to remove that Charm from Umbridge's wand to ascertain that it's really the Elder Wand," Hermione said. "Then I suggest to consult Ollivander. No one knows more about wandlore. Maybe he can help us locate the current Owner. There must be a spell for that."

"I could search Umbridge's office again. I have an idea where the Stone might be hidden," Draco offered. He turned to Harry. "It may sound preposterous since the Aurors and the Unspeakables already searched it twice and didn't find anything, but I've been working for that hag. I've been closer to Her Nastiness during the last two years than any of you."

Both Harry and Andromeda nodded at once. "That's a very good idea, Draco," Harry replied. "Sometimes you need to trust your instincts. Just be careful, okay? There's a reason for that nickname you just used for her. The Stone will be shielded somehow."

"What about those Necromancers in Umbridge's company?" Madame Dubois asked, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun. "We must not forget that angle. You are not only trying to disarm a potential magical weapon of mass destruction here. You are sabotaging a cunning plan to commit mass murder. Who were those Necromancers? Where did they come from, how did they end up working with Umbridge – or how did Umbridge end up working with them?"

"Damn Death Eaters," Ron grumbled.

Madame Dubois shook her head. "Are you sure they are Death Eaters? Don't allow your preconceptions to blind you. What about that warning the first _Inferius_ gave you? Did he mention Death Eaters at all?"

"He didn't," Severus said. The silky tone of his voice made Hermione shiver. "I have been thinking about that, too. What if the Necromancers were not Umbridge's accomplices? What if Umbridge was theirs?"

"What do you suspect, Severus?" Andromeda asked.

**oooOooo**


	194. Absurd Suspicions

**Absurd Suspicions**

"That's absurd." Andromeda's voice cut through the stunned silence. "I cannot remember the last time I've heard such nonsense. You honestly expect me to take the warning of an _Inferius _whose capacity of speech was created by a botched jarvey-musk potion seriously? Because some members of Muggle churches wear robes, you expect us to believe that the Necromancers we're dealing with may live as Muggles? And not only as Muggles, but as monks? Monks of the Inquisition, possibly risen from the Dead to kill all Muggle-born witches and wizards? That's –"

"It's not absurd at all," Hermione snapped. "Remember that Order meeting back in November? It was _you_ who said that Umbridge was neither smart nor powerful enough to raise an _Inferius_ on her own! And since you're acting Minister of Magic now, surely you are aware of the existence and significance of _certain_ historical treaties?"

She ignored Severus' warning glare and pressed on, "And Draco mentioned several times that Umbridge was in contact with representatives of the Catholic church. I'm sure that Shacklebolt thought it very funny when he put _her_ of all people in charge of that project. Umbridge responsible for a good-will project involving Muggles? What a wonderful joke! But he's not laughing now, is he? He's dead!"

"But, Hermione," Lois said calmly, "aren't you forgetting something? The Inquisition doesn't exist anymore. The Church has stopped burning witches at the stake hundreds of years ago."

"Yeah," Ron agreed readily. "Remember that story Professor Binns used to tell? It's about the only thing I remember from history of magic." He grinned at Lois. "A story about a weird wizard who was so hooked on Flame Freezing Charms that he allowed them to burn him a hundred times just for the kick of it."

Lois shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she did smile at her lover.

"Witches were not burned in England, Ronald. They were _hanged,"_ Hermione retorted heatedly. "And while it's certainly true that the Church stopped persecuting witches long ago, the organisation that used to be the Holy Inquisition still exists. It just has another name nowadays. I told you about it, too. When Draco was all out of sorts because of that Muggle at the ministry…" She stopped suddenly and turned to Draco, remembering something. "That Muggle, Draco – you said he asked you something about the resurrection of the body –"

Draco made a face. "Yes. If I believe in _the 'resurrection of the body'_ and the _'conjuring of bones'._ And you told me that the resurrection of the body is just part of Muggle faith."

"Oh no," Hermione whispered. "I was wrong. I didn't listen, and I was wrong. He was asking you about Necromancy, Draco. It was not about the creed at all. In the Bible, Necromancers are sometimes referred to as _'bone-conjurers'."_She frowned. "But that doesn't make any sense! It sounds as if he was trying to warn you. Why would he do that if they were working _with _Umbridge?"

"As I was saying before, Severus' suspicions don't make sense. And at the moment I am not willing to jeopardize good magical-Muggle relations for the sake of an old spy's paranoia," Andromeda commented acerbically. "We certainly have more pressing problems just now."

"Andromeda, that's enough," Minerva interrupted. "Now, if you please – we need to discuss our strategy. We have to follow any lead to discover who may have collaborated with Umbridge – or the other way around. And that includes Muggle suspects. But our absolute priority must be to break the leeching curse and to destroy the Resurrection Stone. Hermione, since you already worked with Ollivander during the research for the Sempiternal Solution, I want you to contact him tomorrow. We need to find the current Owner of the Elder Wand. Draco – I want you in charge of another search of Umbridge's office. You are right: you worked with her for the last two years. You may find something that even the Unspeakables missed. At least it doesn't cost us anything to have you try. If that's all right with you, Andromeda?  
"Severus, as I understand it, you will need to brew another batch of that Sempiternal Solution …"

**oooOooo**

Later Harry, Ginny, Severus and Hermione sat in the library of Grimmauld Place, each of them nursing a dram of single malt whisky from a nice bottle of Talisker considerately provided by Minerva McGonagall.

"You did well today, Harry," Severus said abruptly. "That was not an easy meeting to be in charge of."

Harry shuddered. His gaze flicked the reports from the Ministry and St. Mungo's on his desk in the corner. "You can say that again," he muttered. Absentmindedly he turned his glass in his hands. Hermione, he noticed, was still slumped dejectedly in the corner of the sofa, deep in thought. Her glass sat forgotten on the coffee table.

"Do you really believe that Necromancers who are working for a Muggle church in some way could be involved in this mess?"

When the other man's lips thinned with annoyance, he went on quickly, "Look – _I _don't think you're paranoid. At least not anymore paranoid than I am. Or Moody was. But while the Church definitely has a giant track-record of killing – or at least _trying_ to kill – witches and wizards, that incident Draco described really sounds more like a warning. And why in Merlin's name would they try to kill us first, only to warn us about Umbridge's _Inferi _later?"

Severus sighed and took a deep swallow of whisky. "Damned if I know. But I cannot forget Colin's warning."

Harry nodded. _"'Watch the robes, not the wizards.'_ That description certainly fits Muggle monks."

"And the Church has always employed Necromancers," Severus added. "Or what exactly did you think that _exorcists_ are?"

Harry stared at Severus. "I don't think I ever thought about that. Though that _still_ doesn't explain the warning. And we can't exactly Owl them and ask them, huh? I guess we'll just have to be extra careful."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The treaties Hermione refers to are the "Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum" - the treaties for the segregation of witches, as detailed in the chapters132, 134 and 135.

_Oh, and just a reminder: _All characters, places and events in this story are either the products of the relevant author's imagination (that means: either Joanne K. Rowling, Garth Nix or _I_ made it all up) or they are used entirely fictiously (that means: although in real life there _is_ a Catholic institution formerly known as "The Holy Inquisition", they don't employ Necromancers today who are plotting to kill all Muggle-born witches and wizards).


	195. Defeat

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Defeat**

"Thanks for coming along, Harry," Hermione said, when they were walking down Diagon Alley two days later. "Severus is in a really foul mood."

Harry snorted. "Can't say I blame him, after being ripped apart by Andromeda … Who would have thought that a home-maker and wife of a Muggle would turn out to be such a formidable witch?"

Hermione frowned at her friend. "Why wouldn't she? And I'd be really careful with such comments around Molly, if I were you."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. I didn't mean anything negative with that remark, and you know that, too. It's just … she's not the Andromeda Tonks I first met three years ago."

Hermione sighed. He had a point there. They all had changed. First because of the war, and then – well, probably the way everyone changed in the course of life.

"All of us have changed," she admitted conciliatorily. "And she _is_ Sirius' cousin."

"Exactly." Harry grinned at her sideways. "The Blacks are not exactly known for their mild manners and reticent rhethorics."

"Which reminds me," Hermione said. "Whatever happened to old Mother Black? I can't say I missed her screeching diatribe yesterday, but I couldn't fail to notice its rather conspicuous absence."

Now Harry's expression turned positively smug. "George, it turns out, is not only a dab hand at sticky Charms, he's also very good at unsticking things that got stuck somewhere somehow. Also, I figured she'd be happier with family. I gave her to Draco for Christmas."

"You did what?" Hermione stopped in her tracks and gaped at Harry.

"I got George to remove the frame from my wall, and then I gave her to Draco. – She's actually almost friendly with him."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know if I'm supposed to despair of you or applaud you."

Harry gave her an elegant little bow. "Applause is always appreciated. Right. Here we are."

**oooOooo**

Inside the shop, Hermione noticed with some amusement the awe in Harry's expression, as he turned around in the bright and clean interior of the refurbished shop.

"Hello 'ermione," a bright young voice greeted them. "And Mr. Potter! It's an honour to meet you."

"Hi, Genevieve. Harry, this is Genevieve Ollivander, Mr. Ollivander's grandniece."

Genevieve beamed at Harry, clearly delighted to make his acquaintance. "What can I do for you today? More research?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Is Mr. Ollivander in? We have some questions for him."

The wizard in question appeared from the narrow hallway at the end of the room so suddenly as if he'd thrown off an Invisibility Cloak. "I am here. Madam Snape. Mr. Potter."

"Good to see you again, Ollivander," Harry started in briskly. "We're here to make some inquiries on behalf of Headmistress McGonagall." He glanced meaningfully in Genevieve's direction, implying that they were here on secret Order business.

"I think Genevieve should stay, Harry," Hermione suggested. "She's a gifted wandmaker. Maybe she can help."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Ollivander, I'm sure you remember this." He reached into his robe and unceremoniously dumped a long, rectangular box on the counter.

The old wandmaker reached for the lid of the box and opened it.

"Ah." He shuddered, his great silver eyes darkening to a stormy grey. "The Deathstick. I was wondering if I would see it again. There have been rumours, you know, since Kingsley Shacklebolt died."

"There are always rumours," Harry muttered disgustedly. "Apparently the Elder Wand was stolen when Dumbledore's tomb was destroyed. I assume you've heard about that, too?"

Ollivander only nodded.

"Somehow the wand ended up in the hands of Dolores Umbridge. I assume you're aware that she's dead, too?"

Again, the wandmaker nodded wordlessly.

"We suspect that I lost ownership of the wand somewhere along the way. The legends claim that the Elder Wand only responds to power, that its ownership can be transferred properly only in a duel, when another wizard proves to the wand that he's more powerful than its previous master. But I don't think that can be quite correct. Draco Malfoy was never more powerful than Dumbledore. And I didn't really disarm Draco, I just snatched the wands away from him. I have no clue how exactly the ownership of that damn wand gets transferred, but I seriously doubt that it's as formal and dramatic as those legends make it." Harry scowled at the wand, intense dislike clearly visible on his face. "Anyway. We need to know who's the current owner of the Elder Wand. And it's really urgent."

"I see that you are still pursuing deep questions, Mr. Potter. As I have told you before, wandlore is an incredibly complex and very mysterious area of magic," Ollivander said in his thin, susurrant voice. "But I think you must be right. My best assumption is that Elder Wand reacts to power, to danger of death, and to defeat; in the magical, mundane or even metaphorical sense of the term. – Have you been defeated by anyone during recent months? In a matter of life and death?"

Harry just groaned. "I'm an Auror, Mr. Ollivander. Defeat and danger of death are pretty much a matter of _routine _in that job!"

Hermione stared at the sinister length of the Elder Wand. She felt _defeated,_ and not for the first time in recent months. Since becoming Severus' apprentice and his wife, her life had been a roller-coaster of surprising victories and awful defeats … _Defeats. Oh no!_

"Harry," she croaked. "You lost to Umbridge in court. When you defended Severus."

Harry put his elbows on the counter and covered his face with his hands. After a long moment of silence he raised his head and faced Ollivander. "Would that count as defeat for the Elder Wand?"

"Possibly, quite possibly," the old wandmaker replied.

Harry sighed deeply. "Right. Well, _I_ definitely counted that as a defeat. I can't really blame the wand if it did, too. But that still doesn't tell us who the current Owner of the damn thing is."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Ollivander talked about wands in general and the Elder Wand pretty much the same way in DH.

Andromeda - since she was married to a Muggle-born and turned away from her pureblood family for him, I expect her to be less willing than other witches to think anything bad of Muggles. And she still thinks that Severus ought to have saved Tonks and Lupin, so she's unlikely to simply agree with him on anything.


	196. Trolls, Death and Friendship

**Trolls, Death and Friendship**

"I believe I can 'elp you," Genevieve said. "I worked in wand control for ze French government for two years after my apprenticeship. I assisted the _Direction Générale de la Sécurité Magique_ when zey developed a new wand scanner to ascertain zee ownership of wands. Voldemort and 'is Death Eaters caused security concerns far beyond Great Britain."

"She is being overly modest," Ollivander said gruffly. "The scanner is her invention. Though if a wizard manages to loses his wand, I dare say he doesn't deserve to be recognised as its owner."

"My uncle doesn't like modern machinery," Genevieve commented.

"Or the French government," Ollivander muttered under his breath.

"Just a moment," the young witch said. "I'll go and get ze scanner. We've been using it to find zee owners of ze wands in ze collection of lost wands in ze Department of Mysteries. So far we 'ave matched every single one of zem."

When she returned, Genevieve carried a sleek metallic apparatus that reminded Hermione of security devices she'd encountered at airports when she travelled with her parents during long ago holidays. The Elder Wand was placed inside the scanner. Then Genevieve propped up a flat rectangle that looked very much like the display of a laptop and inserted her own wand into a few small indentations at the bottom of the screen.

A final flourish with her wand, a murmured_"Dominum Revelio",_ and the silvery screen flared to life, presenting an extremely clear picture.

"I'll be damned!" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione just goggled at the sheepish smile of Percy Weasley.

**oooOooo**

Hermione didn't return to Hogwarts right away. Instead she went back to Grimmauld Place with Harry.

Kreacher served tea (and scones, and cucumber sandwiches, and assorted tea-cakes, and fresh fruit, and a platter of cheese; and if Harry had allowed it, he'd probably have roasted a whole ox on a spit for them).

They sat in the library and stared in thoughtful silence at the box with the Elder Wand that sat between their plates and tea-cups on the coffee table.

"Do you have any idea how Percy defeated Umbridge?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I guess it must have been that chess competition at the Ministry. Percy was playing against Umbridge to give Draco the time to snoop around in her office. Draco didn't find anything, so I don't see why the wand would judge this as a defeat in a matter of life and death. You know, wandlore is not only _'very complex and mysterious',_ it's also bloody annoying."

Hermione inhaled tea. After coughing until tears were streaming down her cheeks, she limply collapsed against the cushions on the sofa. She dashed at her eyes.

"More than annoying," she agreed. "A veritable pain in the arse! First the Sempiternal Solution, now that." She shook her head. "Harry, what are we supposed to do now? As soon as we tell Severus about this, he'll want to go and challenge poor Percy to a duel."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know."

He proceeded to heap his plate high with scones and cake, then hid behind the food and his tea-cup.

"At least we won't make the same mistake as Dumbledore," he finally mumbled. "We won't try to stage this … this take-over with Percy's consent."

"I don't want Severus to become the Owner of the Elder Wand," Hermione blurted. "He –"

She stopped, uncertain how she could explain the matter to Harry without breaking Severus' confidence. Harry put down the piece of cake he was nibbling on and turned to face Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I won't let that happen. No matter if breaking the curse sends Dumbledore's soul straight to paradise, sets him to dancing the can-can in Salazar Slytherin's portrait or … reduces him to Muggle atoms – it won't be Severus who'll do it. He's got enough on his plate." Harry grimaced and shoved his plate with the half-eaten cake away.

"Oh goodness." Hermione exhaled shakily. She hadn't expected Harry to understand so easily. She had to blink her eyes rapidly, as a profound surge of relief brought tears to her eyes. Impatiently she dashed at her cheeks. "I don't know why I'm being such a cry-baby."

"Come here." Harry reached over and drew her into his arms. "It's okay, 'mione. It's okay to be worried and scared. I know that _I_ am. But we've made it once, and we'll make it again. Between you and me, we'll keep him safe. _And_ the whole bloody wizarding world."

Awkwardly he patted her shoulder. "Hey, don't cry. It's nothing new for us, after all. Just same old, same old. Business as usual, really."

In spite of herself, Hermione had to laugh. They broke apart.

"You really do have a _'saving people'_ thing, don't you?"

Harry sighed. "I admit that I _prefer_ saving my friends to losing them."

"Friends, Harry?"

He grinned abashedly. "I don't think it's quite the same as it was with us, you know – how you can't go knocking about mountain-trolls without ending up liking each other. But … well, marching hand in hand into Death and back … that does something to you." He grimaced. "However, I think it would be much healthier for me if you were to keep real quiet about that."

Hermione smiled. "I won't breathe a word. He's really not the type for big public … or even big private declarations of love."

"Doesn't mean that he doesn't love you," Harry said. "Blokes are a bit stupid about such stuff sometimes, you know?"

Her smile grew even broader. _Harry Potter _was trying to reassure her that Severus Snape really loved her? What was the world coming to?

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"Well," Harry said with a wicked smirk. "I think I'll spend the evening at the Burrow and challenge the Weasleys to a rousing game of Quidditch. And I think I just might suggest to the others that they afford Percy the high honour of playing Seeker _for the other team."_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks for invaluable help with figuring out plot details to Aranel and Fliewatuet.

The reference to the troll alludes to the reason why Harry and Ron struck up a friendship with Hermione in the first place.


	197. A Weasley Family Match

**A Weasley Family Match**

"Come on, Perce, if you want to become a rose-herder, you'll have to do better than that!" Harry taunted and dipped down right in front of Percy, only to shoot almost straight up into the sky again mere inches away from his broom-twigs.

The air was crisp this January afternoon, the sun brilliant. A perfect day for Quidditch. Harry's gaze roamed the sky. With fresh snow on the ground, the air sparkled with golden reflections. Today it would be difficult even for him to spot the snitch quickly. Several yards below, Percy hunched over his broom, his shoulders drawn up. Percy had a lot to get out of his system. He'd lost his job at the Ministry for good and the outcome of his up-coming interview to become a herder of horse-roses down in Cornwall was anything but a sure thing.

Harry cursed under his breath. Weasley family matches were fiercely competitive even if one member didn't have anything vital to prove to the family. The one time when Fred and George had managed to sell tickets to a family match to retired players of the Cannons and the Harpies was the stuff of legend.

_Damn, damn, damn. _He deeply regretted that his plan of defeating Percy in the abbreviated version of Quidditch of _'Catch the Snitch' _had failed But obviously that would have been too much to ask for. He and Percy, two brooms and a snitch in a darkening January evening. It would have been quick and painless. Over in a blink.

What he got instead was this bloody brilliant, glittering January afternoon and an Order meeting turned Quidditch match.

And _Hermione_ as Chaser on his team.

Though she wasn't even _that_ bad, he had to admit. Although Hermione was much too cautious to be a good flyer, aim was accurate and her throws passable. Of course she was no match for Fleur Weasley, the Keeper for Percy's team. On the other hand Hermione's _'happy' _expression at having to play had effectively curdled a jug of milk, so maybe one glance from her would prevent Percy from having the streak of luck he so richly deserved but _must not_ enjoy today of all days …

**oooOooo**

"Merlin, Percy! Keep your eyes open!" Ron growled after Harry's _'shooting-star'_tack had almost thrown Percy off his broom. "You're still a Weasley! We have a reputation to maintain!"

Percy winced, but obediently nudged his broom higher. He wished he could have refused playing. But of course that was quite impossible. Being invited to play Seeker at a Weasley family match was the highest honour the clan could bestow. That happened only if the whole family was inordinately proud of your accomplishments or if everyone thought that you needed some serious cheering-up.

Percy rather doubted he'd ever feel cheerful again. He should have noticed … he should have helped … he should have saved Kingsley … he should … _If wishes were broomsticks … _It was even worse that Harry was right: he needed to be quick on his broom if he wanted the job in Cornwall. For all the peace and quiet he desired to find among the herds of horse-roses and their bees, it was definitely _not_ a desk job.

_Fuck desk jobs._ By now it was clear that he sucked at desk jobs, no matter how much he loved them. It was time for a change. And this time, his family supported him. In spite of everything. He drew a shuddering breath. _You're still a Weasley._

_I'm a Weasley, _he thought. _Weasleys don't give up. _He soared higher and squinted in the glare of sunlight, staring around for the elusive gleam of the snitch. _I'm still a Weasley._ He clenched his teeth.

He'd catch the snitch today.  
He'd get the job in Cornwall.  
And he'd never return to London in his life.

Below him, Ron gestured imperiously to his fellow Chasers, Alina and Ginny.

"At 'em, girls!" Ron shouted.

**oooOooo**

Severus glared at Harry, although he was fairly sure that Potter was too far away to observe his facial expression. A Quidditch game to alleviate stress? To reduce the general tension? What was he playing at?

And although it was rather an Order meeting turned Quidditch match, including a few guests, it was still a Weasley family match.And you did not refuse an invitation to participate in a Weasley family match.

_Not even Hermione._

He batted forcefully at a bludger and sent it hurtling towards Draco, while keeping an eye out for Hermione. If anything happened to Hermione because of this foolishness … It was painfully obvious that Hermione didn't like flying. Her prim posture. The way she carefully clutched at the broom. Though her aim was surprisingly precise and her throws lacked merely strength and experience.

He recalled Rolanda Hooch's theory of how a person's behaviour on a broom told you exactly how much self-confidence they had.

Severus narrowed his eyes as he observed his wife. Now, at the beginning of the match, the game was still slow – the players were trying to get a feel for the members of their team as well as of the flying style of their opponents …

_Was Hermione really that insecure?_

Memories of Hermione flashed through his mind – the painfully overeager child, lips pressed together, eyes huge, arm thrust straight into the air – the shocked, disbelieving expression at two scant words of praise only last year …

_How could a witch be so brave and brilliant and still doubt herself?_

What's that? A bludger racing straight at Hermione? Never mind that she was on the other team – _damn!_ – he'd never get there in time – _Merlin's bollocks, what was that?!_ –

A scowl. A jerk. A bumpy, clumsy drop of around three feet. And Hermione grinned mischievously at her husband, while Bill vigorously lobbed the bludger at Ron.

Severus gasped with relief. _Good grief, he may have survived meeting Death Personified, but right now he wasn't sure if he'd make it through this match!_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The teams of the Weasley Family Match:

**Team "Harry": **

Seeker – Harry Potter  
2 Beaters – Bill Weasley and Madame Claire Dubois  
3 Chasers – Angelina Johnson (currently professional Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies), Hermione Snape, Draco Malfoy  
Keeper – Arthur Weasley

**Team "Percy":**

Seeker – Percy Weasley  
2 Beaters – George Weasley and Severus Snape  
3 Chasers – Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Alina Petrel  
Keeper – Fleur Weasley


	198. Who Catches the Snitch?

**Who Gets the Snitch?**

_"Scourgify!"_ Molly shook her head at the jug that had contained perfectly fresh milk just a few minutes ago. It wasn't _at all_ like Hermione to let her magic get away from her like that. Apparently she truly hated Quidditch as much as she claimed. No matter; a bit of exercise would do her a world of good. She looked much too peaky these days.

Then the new crup-puppy – a Christmas present from Arthur (so she'd have something to look after with the kids out of the house; and because it would make the grand-children want to stay longer) – went into a fit of crazy barking at the door.

"Piffle! Stop that!" Then Molly stared at the trim figure of Gwenog Jones – a younger cousin on the Prewett side of the family – and captain of the Holyhead Harpies.

"Oh, Gwenog, what a lovely surprise! Do come in. I must say, I still think you've got the Second Sight where Quidditch is concerned – you're just in time to watch a family match. Well – some friends and guests are playing, too."

"I knew that Angelina wanted to visit George this weekend, so I thought I'd drop by."

They kissed and embraced, then Molly chuckled at Gwenog's smug smile.

"Get yourself out there," Molly urged. "I'm sure they'll appreciate a proper referee. – I'm going to cook up a storm for afters, everyone will be famished." She beamed. "And Victoire will help me, won't you, dearie?"

The tiny golden-haired witch who was shyly hanging on to Molly's apron giggled brightly.

"Just wait another year, little one," Gwenog promised, "then we'll have you on a broom of your own!"

Molly shook her head. "Now out with you, Gwen, before you completely corrupt the youth!"

**oooOooo**

Ginny bent low over her broom and zigzagged like a boomerang back and forth between Angelina and Draco. Another shimmy, and the goal posts were within reach.

She grinned and lobbed.

Her dad was just a bit too slow to save. Alina and Ron screamed and cheered wildly.

**oooOooo**

_Why, oh why did I have to end up on Harry's team,_ Hermione moaned to herself. With Ginny, George and Severus on the other team, Harry's victory – and he had to defeat Percy as a Seeker! – would be well earned indeed.

_Oh no!_ The Quaffle came directly at her! And there was no other Chaser nearby! _Bloody …_ She clenched her teeth and increased her velocity. The goal posts seemed to bend down to her with sickening speed. She had to throw now or collide with a post.

Feebly, she tossed the Quaffle at the right hoop.

Then she found herself blinking at the flabbergasted face of Fleur right in front of her.

"Go, Hermione!" Harry shouted somewhere above.

"I scored?!" She managed to grip her broom just in time so she didn't topple off in surprise.

**oooOooo**

On the field behind the Burrow, the game was picking up speed. But rather than snatching up one of the spare brooms, Gwenog Jones found a secluded spot from where she could watch the game without being easily spotted by the players.

Molly hadn't been far off the mark – the women on her father's side of the family had a reputation for talents in divination. Gwenog definitely had a knack for being in the right place at the right time for spotting talented Quidditch players. Originally, she'd intended to pop over for a quick visit on Sunday. Now she was glad she hadn't waited for tomorrow.

_Ah … Harry Potter … a pity he's a man … Angelina … hmm … looks like that stiffness in her arm isn't completely gone yet … I'll have to look into that next week … young Malfoy's quite easy on the eyes with that lean figure … and sweet Nimue's titties, whoever allowed that poor girl to mount a broom? … well, she DID manage a clean score … And why's Snape gaping at the witch like that? Can it be –_ Gwenog stifled a laughter. _Oh dear. Arthur's still splitting up couples for family matches? Then it must be getting serious between George and Angelina … And will you LOOK at that? Another brilliant score by Ginny. That witch is wasted as a reporter!_

**oooOooo**

Draco executed an almost lazy Sloth Grip Roll before remounting and smirking at his former head of house. Severus just shrugged and zoomed off. The Potions Master's priorities were clear – rather than succeed as a Beater in this match, he'd stay close enough to Hermione to keep her safe no matter what. Draco didn't mind. Even though they had Harry as a Seeker and with Angelina a _professional_ Chaser on their team – the only thing that kept the others from flattening them right now was that Percy and not Alina played Seeker.

**oooOooo**

As the velocity and ferocity of the Weasley family match increased, Gwenog Jones congratulated herself on her superb instincts. Not only was it highly entertaining, she was convinced that she'd found herself a brilliant new Chaser for her team in Ginevra Weasley. And that slight, black-haired girl – she'd be damned if that wasn't a damn fine Seeker in the making.

She clapped a hand in front of her mouth. Merlin! If that hadn't been Percy Weasley almost catching the snitch. Only a rather clumsy swerve of Hermione Snape had prevented his success. Percy played with grim determination today. And between faultless flying and superb scores by both Angelina and Ginny, it was clear that the match would be decided between Harry and Percy.

And she wasn't sure at all if it wouldn't turn into an unprecedented defeat of The-Boy-Who-Lived …

Already the sun was sinking. The reflections of the low rays played tricks even on experienced eyes.

_There!_ She jumped. _The snitch again!_

_And – now! Percy and Potter!_

_Percy is closer, but I don't know if – I – could get at the snitch where it's going now! _

_Potter! Quicker than Percy, more agile! And just as determined!_

_Merlin, Merlin, Merlin – what's he doing NOW?!_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The teams of the Weasley Family Match:

**Team "Harry": **

Seeker – Harry Potter  
2 Beaters – Bill Weasley and Madame Claire Dubois  
3 Chasers – Angelina Johnson (currently professional Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies), Hermione Snape, Draco Malfoy  
Keeper – Arthur Weasley

**Team "Percy":**

Seeker – Percy Weasley  
2 Beaters – George Weasley and Severus Snape  
3 Chasers – Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Alina Petrel  
Keeper – Fleur Weasley

According to the Harry Potter Lexicon, Gwenog Jones is possibly still the captain of the Holyhead Harpies at the time of my story. The Prewett family connection I made up.

Draco's Sloth Grip Roll is from "Quidditch Through the Ages".

And Ginny Weasley was a star player for the Holyhead Harpies before she became senior Quidditch reported with the "Daily Prophet" (and presumably after she finished her apprenticeship there that I made up for the purposes of this story).


	199. Therapy for a Ghoul?

**Therapy for a Ghoul?**

"Merlin! You – it –" Ginny trailed off and gaped at her fiancé. Harry lay on their bed and looked like shit. Healer Mugwort had only just left – with firm orders that he was to stay in a horizontal position for another three hours to allow the healing spells to settle and the scars to crust over completely. He grinned weakly.

"It doesn't look like a lightning bolt anymore," he said with a faint hint of satisfaction.

Ginny bent closer and scrutinized the mess that was Harry's forehead with the eye of an expert, a skill honed by dealing with six brothers throughout her childhood. Wrinkling her nose, she drew back and nodded. "I'm not exactly sure _what_ it looks like yet, what with the scabs and the bruises … But I think it just may end up looking like a snitch."

Harry beamed, then winced. "I'd prefer the footprint of a rhino to the old design to be honest. And if it turns out to look like a snitch –" He tried another grin, more carefully this time, while raising his right hand a little off the mattress. Something golden and sparkling moved under his fingers. "– that would be nothing but appropriate."

Ginny shook her head. "A chimney would work, too. Really, Harry. I do agree that the Burrow is in dire need of some remodelling. But you could have simply suggested the name of an architect instead of taking matters into your own – well, head, I guess. You didn't exactly use your hands for that."

"I had to catch the snitch," Harry said with determination. "Is Arthur angry at me?"

"And you got your snitch!" Ginny rolled her eyes. "Though really, did you absolutely _have_ to defeat Percy? He's in a bad funk as it is. Mum swears that he's to blame for all the rain we've had last week because he's so morose about everything that happened."

When Harry just pressed his lips together and caressed his snitch, Ginny huffed. _Men. Really. Not that she didn't take Quidditch seriously – after all it _was_ a very serious game. But some things were more important. Like family, for example. _ "No, Dad's not angry. He's already rebuilt the chimney and the part of the roof that caved in when we dug you out of the rubble. Though if we have to pay for therapy to get that ghoul back to normal, Dad might want to have words with you yet."

"Great." Harry sounded neither scared nor enthused, but rather a bit tired.

Well, with all that had happened, she couldn't precisely blame him.

"So who was that witch? That dark haired lady that drew you back among the raspberry bushes once it was clear that I was not going to snuff it?"

Ginny blinked. "You noticed that? With your whole face full of blood and your head split open to the bone?"

Harry smirked. "I'm supposed to be an Auror now. I'm getting paid to notice stuff like that. You were worried about me, but you were also incredibly nervous because of that witch. So, who's she? She must be something special."

Ginny took a deep breath. "You can say that again. That, my dear, was Gwenog Jones. The cap–"

"The captain of the Holyhead Harpies??" He jerked almost upright only to fall back again with a groan.

"Shush! Didn't Healer Mugwort say you're supposed to lie still?"

_"Hmpf. Argh." _

She conjured up a cool, damp flannel and laid it gently on his forehead. Harry sighed gratefully. Ginny squeezed his hand and felt happiness bubble up inside her like soda bubbles. "Yes, Gwenog Jones, the captain of the Holyhead Harpies. She's a cousin so-and-so-many-times removed on my mother's side of the family. You know how pureblood families are. Go back a few generations and the Weasleys and the Prewitts are related with everyone and his brother. Anyway." Ginny stopped, because a huge grin was splitting her face. "Gwenog, she's got the most uncanny knack for scouting new team members. A right nifty twist on divination, some say. Whatever it is, it brought her here today. She was very impressed with little Alina. And –" Ginny giggled. "She expressed serious regret that you're not a woman."

Harry convulsed, but didn't try to sit up again. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, I think. What are you not telling me?"

"My, my," Ginny crowed. "Quite the suspicious Mr. Auror today, are we?" But she relented quickly. "She wants me on the team," she rushed on. "Me! Ginny Weasley! She wants to see me in the next try-outs, and she thinks I'd make a swell chaser."

She could feel her smile showing all her teeth and then some. Harry was producing gasping noises of praise, and flailed with his hands to express his approval. "That's brilliant!"

Ginny beamed at him. It was more than brilliant.

"But what about your apprenticeship with the Prophet?" Harry asked carefully, keeping his eyes closed. Obviously he hoped that his injuries would spare him a scathing retort.

But her smirk only widened. _"If_ I do get in, I'll play substitute for three seasons first. She said that I'll be able to do both if the Prophet is a bit accommodating. Knowing Gwenog's reputation, I guess if I get in, they'll be nothing but! So I'd be all set."

She glanced down at him. Harry's face was very pale beneath crusts of dried blood and quickly fading bruises. Ginny swallowed hard. For all that it had been pretty elementary spells that had saved Harry's life this afternoon, if Healer Mugwort hadn't been present to fix him up right away, The-Boy-Who-Lived might have found a decidedly inglorious end stuck in the chimney of the Burrow along with that stupid Snitch.

His left hand curled around hers. The bright colours of the Gryffindor lion and the Ravenclaw raven stood out in stark contrast to his pale and scraped knuckles. With the other hand he was still hanging on to the Snitch.

**oooOooo**


	200. Various Kinds of Courage

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Various Kinds of Courage**

"So I'm the true owner of that damned wand now?" Harry asked. He didn't trust the Elder Wand.

Genevieve Ollivander nodded. "Yes, you are ze owner now. Zere is no doubt about zat."

Harry exhaled heavily. "Great," he said. "Now someone please tell me how I'm supposed to lie to Snape and tell him that Percy is still the Owner of the Elder Wand."

"I can do that, Mr. Potter," a reedy voice wheezed from the door. "Just a small token of appreciation against a debt that can never be repaid."

"And if he were to look into your eyes, he'd never notice anything amiss?" Harry asked wearily. Snape might be an Occlumens first and foremost, but he was not exactly a beginner concerning Legilimency, either. Ollivander turned huge, silver eyes towards him. For a second they reminded him of mirrors, silvery, cold, hard … He shuddered. But mirrors could be broken.

The ancient wizard's shoulders slumped. "I am not strong, Mr. Potter. I will not lie to you. I am an old man. You know better than I do that I could not withstand the scrutiny of a powerful Legilimens who would do anything to break into my mind."

"Ze scanner cannot be manipulated." Genevieve sounded slightly defiant – as if that was an argument of long standing. Then she gave Harry a considering, cool look. After a moment's silence she offered a slight smile. "But I do 'ave an old mock-up zat really doesn't show anyzing at all, unless you enchant it to."

Harry lifted his head. _Who would do anything … _But Severus would _not_ do "anything". He wouldn't torture Ollivander. Actually, Harry was willing to bet that if Ollivander didn't rouse Snape's suspicion, he'd never even try to read the old wizard's mind.

And the novelty of the scanner should be enough to distract even the distrustful Potions Master. _Hopefully._

**oooOooo**

"Mr. Weasley, surely now that you're a man of leisure you can do with a little challenge to relieve the tedium of your days?" Severus' voice was silky and scornful at the same time.

Both Percy and Harry flinched.

"I –_uh …"_ Harry forced himself to ignore Percy's desperate glances and silent pleas for help. "Ginny asked me to meet her for lunch," he hurriedly explained. Then he turned tail and pretty much ran from the house.

A Pop! later he stood staring at the remodelled ice-cream parlour in Diagon Alley. He remembered a long ago summer holiday when he'd spent splendid days there, pigging out on ice-cream and learning a lot about the wizarding world care of Florean Fortescue's keen-eyed observations.

_I really should try out the new shop sometime,_ he told himself. _Fiorentina's his niece. And she's Italian. The ice-cream is bound to be good._

He sighed. It was stupid to miss the old times, especially since the old times hadn't been exactly good, seeing how they'd mainly consisted of Voldemort and Voldemort trying to conquer the wizarding world and kill him in the process.

_Still … Had he ever told Florean Fortescue how much he'd appreciated his ice cram, and even more: their conversations?_

_Or poor Percy – _Harry grimaced. It had taken some serious guts to return to the fold of the Weasley family. _And now … _

"I'll make it up to you, mate," he murmured to himself. "Once the curse is broken and I'm back, I'll make it up to you. I have no idea how, but I'll find a way."

He glanced at his watch. "Shite!" he swore. If he didn't hurry, Ginny would have his skin.

**oooOooo**

At the same a wizard in dark Auror's robes unsealed the office of Dolores Umbridge. Draco was clutching a parchment with orders to search the premises in a sweaty hand and tried to ignore the poisonous look the guard threw him.

He was still very much persona-non-grata in Auror Headquarters, for all that the Daily Prophet now counted him among Potter's cronies.

Somewhat to his surprise and secret, intense relief that didn't bother him anymore. He fleetingly remembered the woes of his school years, how they'd been pretty much taken up by cataloguing who thought what about him and why …

Nowadays, with his parents still scrubbing chamber pots in St. Mungo's, life was so much easier. He got to choose whose opinion about him was important to him. And that concerned gratifyingly few people in his life.

_Hannah Abbott, since he was sleeping with her. Teddy. Though thankfully the little tyke still had a few more years to go before he could get really demanding that way. Aunt Andromeda. He didn't like her. And he thought she was being utterly pig-headed about Severus' suspicions. But still, she'd taken him in when she could have sent him to Azkaban. _

_Potter. The Weaselette. Shite, he'd better buy some serious stock in the Harpies in time before Ginny joined the team. Severus. Granger. – No, that wasn't right anymore. She was Hermione Snape now. _

Right. The wards were lifted. Time to go in.

_And why the hell was he so sure that he'd be able to find something where Aurors and Unspeakables had failed?_

_Because I had a fucking bad feeling where that fish tank is concerned even the first time around,_ he thought. Draco remembered Severus' description of the Gates of Death. Black stone, like obsidian. A shimmering dark stone that swallows up any light that touches it. Well, the little gate in Umbridge's fish tank was not quite as scary, but it looked like a perfect-imperfect replica of just that idea.

Draco glared at the lobalug lurking in the shadows of the miniature gate.

_You're a lobalug, _he thought, _classified XXX, which means a 'competent wizard should cope'. I'm certified (and probably certifiable). I'm not afraid of you._

Yet somehow the fish had a sinister cast to its rubbery grey features.

_I should just dump it on the ground or get in a specialist on CoMC. _Then Draco shook himself. _Am I a wizard or what?_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	201. So Long, Thanks to the Fish

**So Long, Thanks to the Fish**

Draco scattered a few flakes of fish food over the water in a corner of the fish tank. Predictably, the lobalug removed itself from its lair, drifted towards the surface and began gobbling up the flakes.

Quickly Draco reached into the water at the other end and stuck his hand inside the little gate, all the while keeping his wand trained on the lobalug with the other hand.

_One wrong move, and you're filet,_ he thought full of smug satisfaction. There! Something. It felt like a pebble. A lonely little stone on the gravelly floor of the aquarium. With a sharp, jagged edge and way too smooth for an ordinary rock. His fingers curled around it.

He'd almost pulled his hand out of the water again, when the lobalug noticed that there was something amiss in his estuary.

From one second to the next, Draco felt as if his hand was enveloped by fire. Screaming, he jerked back. But his arm wouldn't move. His hand felt like so much lead. Searing, scorching, _liquid_ lead flowing through his veins, burning its way up to his shoulder and his heart. He stumbled, helplessly clutching at his left arm. A choked cry constricted his throat.

_I should have gotten that expert after all,_ he thought before he blindly lurched backwards, his arm pulling the fish tank over the edge of the shelf.

Water splashed over his body, drenching his robes, but it didn't put out the fire that was screaming through his arm. Flailing in agony, he fell over backwards and hit the floor with a thump. Instinctively, his right hand curled around the part of his body that hurt most – his left arm and left hand, which was still curled around a small black pebble.

Just a second later, the fish tank crashed down on Draco's chest.

**oooOooo**

"That's the most stupid way to die I've ever heard of," Hermione sobbed. She dashed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, but the tears just kept streaming down her cheeks. "That bloody idiot! He never listened in Care of Magical Creatures! Whatever possessed him? He should have called for help! He should have simply pushed the bloody tank over and emptied it, lobalug and all! Why did he have to go and stick his stupid hand into that fish tank? Why? Why?"

With every question, her voice grew shriller, until her last _"Why?"_ turned into a helpless, wordless wail, with her face buried at Severus' chest.

Severus held her, staring dumbly at the fire that was still tinged with the green echo of a Floo call. _Draco, dead?_

He hugged his wife, held her as she clutched him and cried for a young man she'd barely come to call friend, while he … Severus remembered Draco – as a – _well _– a bright little _– brat._

Yes, Draco had been a brat. But he'd also been a child, and one of his _own_, one of his little snakes. As such, Severus had known him, had known him well, his talents and weaknesses, his dreams. Both the good ones and the bad ones.

Draco's worst nightmare had been a door. Just a door. A heavy, closed door. In Malfoy Manor, down in the cellar. The room his father disappeared into with his mother when she'd displeased her husband. A room Draco never entered.

Severus had known when the boy fell in love for the first time. A little Hufflepuff girl of all people had caught the boy's fancy. Draco hadn't dared to breathe a word – to anyone. In the following months his behaviour, especially towards girls, and _most especially_ towards Gryffindor girls, had been more atrocious than ever.

But Severus had noticed. And for the first time he'd entertained any hope that Draco might turn out more than merely his father's son.

During the last year, Severus had come to believe that this hope may have been justified, that Dumbledore had been right after all, that maybe the nightmare of the Astronomy Tower had been worthwhile, that _this one soul_ had been saved.

Separated from his parents – most of all from the influence of his father – Draco had suddenly begun to grow up. _All on his own._

Severus closed his eyes. The soft weeping of his wife echoed in his ears.

_Draco._ He'd come to _like_ the vision of the man that had started to shine up within the boy. Who would have been a friend, had he lived. Who'd shown the promise to grow up a calm, intelligent man, with a wry humour and a sense of self-worth tempered by acknowledgement of his weaknesses.

_Draco._ The _damn idiot_ who'd still been so desperate to prove himself to his friends that he'd never stopped to _bloody_ think about what he was doing …

**oooOooo**

"I am very sorry for your loss," Severus said slowly.

The acting Minister of Magic had asked him to meet her the day before her nephew's funeral.

Now he stood in her office, facing a witch bitter with too much grief. Her posture was rigid, dressed in stern black robes her appearance was strangely similar to his own. For a moment the harsh lines in her face deepened, then softened again into an expression of weariness and regret.

"Thank you," Andromeda said. "He shouldn't have attempted to simply scoop the Stone out from behind the lobalug. Every school child knows that lobalugs are dangerous and that the XXX classification has more to do with diplomatic relations with the merpeople than with how dangerous lobalug poison really is."

Severus sighed, but remained silent. _Every school child except Draco, who'd thought that being taught by a half-giant was beneath him._

"We'll miss him, Teddy and I," Andromeda stated softly. "In spite of all our arguments, I did love my nephew. He would have grown up to be a fine man, I'm sure of it."

Then she took a deep breath. "But I did not ask you to meet me here to accept your condolences, Severus."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of the chapter is an allusion to the book title "So Long and Thanks for All the Fish" by Douglas Adams.

Thank you for reading.


	202. Times Have Changed

**Times Have Changed – And May Change Again**

Andromeda put a small, square box on the table top. It looked like the boxes the Ministry presented the Orders of Merlin in. She flipped open the lid. On red velvet lay a black pebble. Its jagged edge showed where the original stone had been broken in two.

"Ministry curse breakers as well as an outside expert from Gringotts have verified that the leeching curse is indeed anchored to the stone. But they have not been able to break or modify it. The Gringotts expert –"

Severus just raised an eyebrow. If they'd called in a goblin, why couldn't they just say so?

Andromeda's lips thinned. "– the _goblin_ was able to tell us that the Stone will reach the limit of its capacity within a month. He also suggested that the only solution may be to reunite the Stone with its other half. So it seems you and Harry will indeed have to go back beyond the Veil."

"I am glad that your _experts_ find themselves in agreement with those who get to do the dirty deeds," he sneered, though the goblin's assessment that they still had a few weeks to go until the Stones would blow up did afford him some much needed reassurance.

The Minister of Magic fixed him with a cold stare. "Harry has informed me that you are now the Owner of the Elder Wand?"

"That seems to be the case, yes." He didn't quite trust the silver-screened contraption that Ollivander's niece called a _'wand scanner'._ But Legilimency had assured him that she had spoken truthfully, when she swore that the scanner could not be manipulated.

"So you will use the Elder Wand to re-join the Stones and to separate Dumbledore's soul from curse?"

"Just as Dumbledore intended me to." He'd meant his words to be a calm statement of facts, but somehow they had a sinister ring in his ears.

Andromeda snorted. "Rest assured, Snape: souls are beyond the Wizengamot's jurisdiction. No matter what you do to Dumbledore, you don't have to worry about another trial upon your return. Very well. The Ministry will keep the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone in a secure vault at Gringotts until you have brewed that potion –"

"The Sempiternal Solution."

"_The Sempiternal Solution_ again and are ready to return beyond the Veil. The Ministry offers you the use of the Death Chamber again. Healers will be ready, anticipating your return. We will also dispatch a guard of Aurors to accompany your wife to the White Horse at Uffington."

Severus frowned at that. "Why such safety measures all of a sudden?"

"I still don't share your suspicions, Severus," Andromeda announced.

_But?_ He knew there was a _'but'._ Still unspoken, it was already present in the room, in the uneasiness that darkened the Minister's eyes and the tightness of her shoulders.

"However," she continued, "I have taken it upon myself to follow up the message from the Vatican that welcomed me to this office and extended the most cordial greetings of the Pope. It seemed only polite to inquire about the committee that worked so successfully with the late Secretary of the Registry Office. I encountered a strange reluctance to put me into contact with the chairman of that committee. As if they were literally unable to even remember his name, much less his phone number."

"A Memory Charm?"

"Or just the inefficiency of a Muggle organisation? You know how administrative machineries work." But the tightness of her lips betrayed that she did not truly believe her own excuses.

Severus remained silent. In his experience, only few people could endure that. Most felt compelled to fill the void that silence created between two persons. Normally he would have thought that Andromeda was one of those few – unlike Hermione or Andromeda's late daughter. But today Andromeda was grieving, and she was troubled.

The silence stretched and lengthened to the point where he began to search for a family likeness in Andromeda's face, a hint, a shadow of her nephew … When he was about to close his eyes in defeat, he was finally rewarded for his patience.

"Severus, have you any idea what it would mean if you were right?"

When he still didn't speak, she glared at him. "You must be aware of the fact that my Oath of Office forbids me from spelling out certain details. So would you kindly open your mouth, Snape?"

"The treaties have long since been regarded as nothing but historical documents, words on paper, nothing more," he said softly. "Yet they are what they always were: binding magical contracts."

"Yes," she breathed.

"And we –" He hesitated, going over the details of the treaties with the Inquisition again in his mind.

_To keep the magical world absolutely secret and strictly separate from the Muggle world. Not to permit marriage between witches and wizards and Muggles. Never to appraise a Muggle-born of the existence of the magical world. Only to accept Muggle-borns into the magical world if they managed to enter it on their own …_

"– we have broken them."

"But it was understood," Andromeda whispered, "that times have changed. That things are different today. The Inquisition was disbanded long ago. Diplomatic relations with the Vatican have been good – neutral, at least, and sometimes even amicable – for many years now."

"Maybe times are changing again," Severus observed bitterly. "The involvement of magic-wielding Muggles dressed in robes – robes the likes of which can customarily be found among members of Muggle churches – certainly points in that direction."

"I hope you are wrong, Severus," Andromeda said. "Nevertheless you should be even more careful than before when you return beyond the Veil. You don't know who else may be there. And while I will send Aurors to guard Hermione … If you are right –"

"– that may not be enough," he concluded wearily. "I know." He rose to his feet. The audience was over. "Thank you, Andromeda."

She nodded. "I shall see you at the funeral."

**oooOooo**


	203. Cry of a White Peacock

**Cry of a White Peacock**

The funeral took place at Malfoy Manor.

At the back of the park, between giant cedars and weeping willows, framed by orderly arrangements of yew bushes, stood a row of mausoleums. They were all built of white marble flecked with silvery veins. But most of the crypts were grey with age. Out of the corners of her eyes Hermione thought that she spotted cracks in façades of the older tombs. The angels that adorned them slumped drunkenly against their columns. Lichens and mosses clung to the crevices of their carefully carved locks.

But Draco's tomb was new. It blazed in the icy January sunshine. To its left and to its right new yew trees had been planted. They looked as scrawny and out of place as the crypt they framed.

Hermione gripped Severus' arm harder. Her heart was beating too quickly and she felt strangely short of breath ever since they had passed the wrought iron gates and started walking up the drive towards the manor house. Turning left instead of continuing towards it had granted her some relief, but faced with the row of the mausoleums, the palpitations increased again, making her knees feel weak and her stomach queasy.

Severus did not look at her, but he put an arm around her underneath her cloak, pulling her closer to his side. He knew what had happened the last time she'd had the pleasure to visit Malfoy Manor.

In fact, he'd suggested that she stay home – no one expected her to attend the funeral, after all. Only very few people would attend the funeral at all. If she went or not would go unnoticed and unremarked upon.

But she would hear none of it. Draco had become a friend.

She'd missed the funerals of her friends after the war, because she lay unconscious in a darkened room at St. Mungo's fighting the poison of Severus' blood and Nagini's venom. Today she was healthy and strong, so where else would she be but here, bidding her friend goodbye?

Severus had scowled at her, but he hadn't argued.

Thus, they were here, along with a small group of relatives, friends and enemies that had come to see Draco off.

**oooOooo**

"Lucius, Narcissa –" Severus indicated the hint of a bow. "I am truly sorry for your loss." For a moment it seemed as if he wanted to add something. But then he just shook his head ever so slightly and dropped his gaze. It was too late for words.

Hermione clung to his arm. "I – I – am – My condolences, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," she stuttered.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had changed.

_Had they always been so small?_

Though small was perhaps not the right word; they were both tall. But today both of them stood bowed and bent, their shoulders slumping under a weight they couldn't begin to carry. Narcissa's hair had faded to a dirty off-white, that unfortunate colour old, blond hair sometimes acquires before turning truly white with age. Lucius appeared brittle and broken. His cane was no longer a toy of amour propre, but a necessary support.

"He was a friend," Hermione whispered. "I'm really sorry."

Lucius looked at her then for the first time. He did not say anything, but his pale eyes blinked repeatedly, watery in the cool winter-sun.

**oooOooo**

Andromeda held the funerary speech, while Teddy squirmed in her arms. She spoke of a gifted young man who had repented the mistakes of his past and had been looking to a golden future as an upstanding citizen of the wizarding world. Of a nephew she'd been hoping to be proud of. Of a ministry employee who'd done his best to get his job done.

Little Teddy fidgeted in her arms, his hair changing from black to silver to blond. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy huddled arm in arm in the shadow of the mausoleum. On the other side of the table where Draco's body was laid out, a rare ray of sunlight bathed Hannah Abbott's pale face in golden light, emphasizing her red-rimmed, swollen eyes. And Hermione stood in a daze.

She tried to remember Draco the way the Minister of Magic described him.

But she couldn't.

She remembered his pinched, pale face, the way his eyes narrowed when he was about to say something especially spiteful, years before, when they were still at Hogwarts and knew nothing of the war. The painful way her fist had connected with his jaw that one time near Hagrid's hut.

The way he'd changed in the last years.

Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint the change. It was everything and nothing, just as it was with Harry, who was now walking up to Andromeda to stand beside her behind the table where Draco lay dead and forever silent under the green shroud of velvet lined with silver.

She stared at the slim silhouette under the cloth. It didn't seem possible that Draco's body could be lying there. True, he'd been slender. But he'd been tall, too, and energetic, full of life.

It just didn't seem possible that he was really lying there, that thin, frail shape hidden by the funerary shroud.

When Harry cleared his throat, a mournful cry cut off his words.

All eyes turned to the right of the tomb, where a white peacock appeared. In carefully considered steps the bird ambled forwards, then hesitated, straightened his long neck and crooned.

"Meeeow, meeow," the white peacock cried. "Meeow!"

**oooOooo**

Later Hermione couldn't remember a word of Harry's speech. But the meowing cries of the peacock echoed in her ears. And whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the white flames springing up from the green cloth that covered Draco's body.

She curled up at Severus' side and buried her face in his familiar, comforting scentand listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart.

"Poor Hannah," she murmured. "Poor Draco."

But what she really thought was: _I'd never survive if it was you under that shroud. If I was left and you were gone._

**oooOooo**


	204. Bereft

**Bereft**

"Where are you going?"

"London – Muggle London, that is," Hermione replied, buttoning her duffle coat. She was reaching for her scarf, when she realised that Severus hadn't moved but still stood in front of her, arms crossed in a forbidding manner.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "I thought you don't need me this afternoon?" She frowned. "Or did something come up and you need me after all?" She hoped this was not the case. Tomorrow they would start brewing the Sempiternal Solution again and that meant three days of hard work with barely a break.

"I don't think that is a good idea, Hermione."

She heaved a sigh. "I promise I'll be careful, Severus. I won't duck into any dark alleys. Or do anything foolish. I'm not Harry, after all." Her smile felt foreign on her face.

"I need to get away," she admitted. "I need some time in the real world –" She rolled her eyes at his scowl. "– I know very well that our world is _real_! But I do need a break! I want to spend a few hours browsing in a real bookshop. I want to see that new exhibition at the Tate and then meet with Lois for coffee. I promise I'll be careful. I'll stay far away from St. Paul's and all other churches. I'll keep my wand at the ready all the time. I just …" Her voice trailed off. She had to rid herself of the daze that threatened to grip her with a brisk shake of her head before she could hurry on, "I need to remember that there's a _world _out there. _Somewhere._ Isn't that what you meant in Chartres?"

Severus' scowl deepened. Hermione knew that he was only worried about her and she was very much aware that he had good reason to be concerned, but … during the days since Draco's funeral, she'd started feeling as if the walls of Hogwarts were pressing closer and closer around her, choking her, cutting off the very air she needed to breathe. "Please," she begged. "I won't stay long. I'll be back for dinner."

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well. I _do_ understand, Hermione. Just please, be very careful. We need to start brewing tomorrow, and we can't risk more delays."

"I know," she whispered. Her voice sounded oddly strained. She grabbed her purse and her bonnet and fled from the dungeons.

**oooOooo**

Severus listened to Hermione's fading footsteps. Then he allowed himself another sigh and left the room, too, heading for his private laboratory.

If they wanted to begin brewing a second batch of the Sempiternal Solution tomorrow, there was still a lot to do. Thankfully. It was better to work. Much better. If his hands and mind were busy, his thoughts had less opportunity to dwell on – he sighed and leant on the long oak table.

He stared down at his hands, the long fingers. The burn from yesterday's Advanced Potions class on his left index finger was already fading, although he'd forgotten to reapply the Burn Salve this morning. He needed to cut his nails.

His throat grew painfully tight. He tried to swallow, but it hurt too much as his muscles cramped around the old injury.

Draco was not the first of his students who had died. He would not be the last. During the first and the second rising of Voldemort many Hogwarts students of all four Houses had died; and during the so-called Final Battle most of the dead had been students from Slytherin House. He should be … no, not _used_ to losing one of his own, of course not! But surely one more death shouldn't hit him _that_ hard!

But it did. _It did._

He turned around and buried his face in his hands.

At long last he took a deep, shuddering breath and let his hands sink to his sides. He rotated his cramped, painfully stiff shoulders. He had to go and spend some time with his students now. Many had known and liked Draco; the atmosphere in Slytherin House was subdued this weekend, and spirits were low.

He straightened up and carefully fixed his customary scowl on his face, a thin façade of strength. He could only hope that it would serve to reassure the distraught children.

**oooOooo**

In her office, the headmistress sat in front of her desk on one of the visitors' chairs. She was staring at the painting on the wall; its still, unmoving, garish colours, the barely distinguishable silhouette of a familiar figure.

Her cup of tea had long since gone cold.

_Albus' death; Severus' burden. The attempt to save a young man's soul from the guilt of murder. Now the young man was dead, too, his soul fled beyond the Veil._

A sense of futility spread through Minerva. For the first time she felt not merely exhausted. She felt _old._

Outside the castle, the January drizzle was turning into snow.

**oooOooo**

A downpour had emptied Diagon Alley and filled the Leaky Cauldron to bursting. Not a chair remained unclaimed and no Impervious Charm was strong enough to keep the windows from fogging with the humidity that was steaming up from damp robes, cloaks and hair in the guestroom.

Hannah's body seemed to consist solely of hurting feet and ringing ears. She was weary to her bones. If she'd had more than a moment to stand still, she would have been swaying on her feet.

Still, no matter how tired she was, at night, alone in her bed, she could find no sleep. She'd bury her face in the linens and inhale the lingering remnants of Draco's eau de toilette.

But with each passing day, his scent faded.

Soon she would be unable to detect it. And once she'd change the sheets the next time, it would be gone completely.

Hannah concentrated, cast a Charm that allowed her to juggle twelve bottles of Butterbeer without spilling a drop and hurried back to the guestroom.

**oooOooo**


	205. Angels and Other Creatures

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Angels and Other Creatures**

Hermione said goodbye to Lois and decided that she still had enough time to nip into the big Waterstones at Piccadilly Circus before making her way to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, from where she could safely Apparate to Hogwarts.

In the shop she'd intended to while away her time in front of the shelves with the latest romance novels, distracting herself from grim reality with the blurbs of insipid bodice-rippers.

But soon she found herself sidetracked to a corner she'd rarely even noticed during her increasingly irregular visits in the last few years: self-help books.

Everything from A like 'Amen – Praying is Healing' to Z like 'The Deep Peace of Zen'.

And then: 'Grief: Your New Beginning'.

Hermione snorted. _How could grief equal a new beginning? Except as the beginning of life without Draco. And who'd have thought that she'd ever regret having to live without Draco Malfoy underfoot!_

As far as she could see, the only silver lining this week was that Draco's death and funeral had kept Severus from suspecting that anything was off concerning his 'acquisition' of the Ownership of the Elder Wand by beating Percy Weasley at chess.

Her fingers drifted over the shiny, colourful spines of the paperbacks arrayed in front of her, so different from the leather bound tomes of the wizarding world.

'Angels of Grace.'

She hesitated. _Angels …_ She remembered faces almost lost in the twilight of a cathedral – half sad, half smiling. And stony wings, jutting straight from the shoulders of the statues. In real life, those wings would never support a body in the air. Not even with magic.

But _angels …_

Hermione sank down on her heels, the book clasped tightly. She recalled the comfort of her mother's voice, whispering a child's evening prayer, an almost faded childhood memory:

_Angels bless and angels keep  
Angels guard me while I sleep  
Bless my heart and bless my home  
Bless my spirit as I roam  
Guide and guard me through the night  
and wake me with the morning's light._

She leafed through the book. So many angels: an angel of love, an angel of safekeeping, even an angel of risk. How she needed an angel now! And Severus even more … Hermione closed her eyes, trying to banish thoughts of the Sempiternal Solution, the Death Chamber and the Veil.

Her world had ghouls, gnomes and goblins. And many winged creatures, too: pixies, fairies, hippogriffs, pegasi and thestrals, to name but a few.

_But no angels._

And if Severus was right with his suspicions, angels and everything associated with them brought no comfort and no blessing to her world, but instead dread, death and torture.

She shuddered and thrust the book so quickly back onto the shelf that one of her wands slipped from its sheath inside her sleeve and fell clattering to the ground. She cursed under her breath and hastily retrieved it, looking around in panic as she straightened up and almost collided with a man who'd somehow approached unnoticed.

He gave her a strange smile. "I usually keep the chopsticks, too, when we go for Chinese food. I always plan to practice using them. But somehow I never do."

Hermione's cheeks were burning. "Oh _– err – _well, I – I do that, too – keep them, that is – obviously. _Umm…_ I guess practice makes perfect." She awkwardly cleared her throat.

The man regarded her thoughtfully through heavily lidded, cold grey eyes. He was dressed in black, with a tight white collar, a style almost as severe as her husband's.

"An interesting book," he said, nodding at the paperback Hermione had just put back. "Few people believe in angels anymore. Though they should, they should. For angels wield the wrath of the Lord and they lead the repenting sinners to the gates of the kingdom of God and into the fold of the heavenly veil."

Hermione shivered under the man's icy gaze. "Yes. _Uh._ My mother prayed with me an angel prayer when I was little," she blurted, her heart racing. He was just a man! And only a Muggle to boot. Why in Merlin's and Nimue's name did he scare her so much?

"In that case, there is hope for you," he announced.

Hermione almost sighed with relief: _Just a religious zealot. _

_Thank heaven,_ she thought, and the irony was not lost on her.

_"Uh,_ it was nice talking to you, sir, but I really have to run." She spun around and hurried away, trying to ignore the strange itch between her shoulder blades that made her wonder if the Muggle was watching her go.

**oooOooo**

In the Ministry of Magic, Harry Potter was staying far longer at work than he had to once more. He felt hollow and exhausted, but being with Ginny somehow only made him feel worse. She was so damn fierce and determined to keep going. Not exactly as if nothing had happened, but rather _in spite of it all_ – come hell or high water, no matter if it rained cats and dogs or horned toads and dragon tongues. Actually, he admired that. _Really._ He'd always known that Ginny was far stronger than he was.

But right now her very fortitude was wearing him down. Still, he really should get going now. It was time to go home.

Late on a Saturday afternoon, the Ministry was all but deserted, except for the Unspeakables and the team of Aurors that was on the weekend shift. And the Minister of Magic, he assumed. Shacklebolt had practically lived in the Ministry, and Andromeda was working no less hard. Little Teddy was spending more time at the Burrow these days than in his own home.

Harry stopped walking and groaned. Somehow he'd done what he always did at the end of a long day, when he had a lot on his mind. He'd bypassed the fireplaces of the Floo-network and kept going.

And now he was standing in front of Draco's old office.

With a deep sigh, he opened the door.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2): **The angel's prayer is a traditional Christian childrens' prayer I found online. Of the books mentioned only "Angels of Grace" by Anselm Gruen really exists - it's a wonderful book, no matter if you are Christian or not. I can absolutely recommend it.

To recapitulate, because it's been a while: in chapter 73 we learn that when Hermione was a little child, her mother used to go to church with her. Not so much because the Grangers were devout Christians, but because it was one of the things that were done in her circles. When Hermione received her Hogwarts letter, that practice stopped. And when she visits Chartres with Severus, she wonders if the reason was that she's a witch or only that she outgrew such "childish" traditions. As angel prayers are among the most common ones for small children, along with the story of guardian angels, I think Hermione might remember one of those fondly.


	206. Magic is Might – Redux

**"Magic is Might" **– **Redux**

The office was all cleaned up. Not that Draco had ever really inhabited the room. He'd never brought any personal objects to work. There were no framed certificates of his OWLs or NEWTs, no pictures of his parents, aunt or little Teddy. Harry knew from visiting Andromeda that Draco had been the same there, too. His room had always been immaculate. But there'd been nothing in it to indicate that it was _Draco_ who lived there. He wondered if Draco had been any different around Hannah.

_Hannah._ He really should go and visit her. She'd looked horrible at the funeral. And when he'd dropped in for a quick breakfast last week, she'd gone positively green just looking at his ham and eggs. Obviously, she was taking Draco's death hard.

He sighed. _But who wasn't? _

Harry slumped down on the chair, crossed his arms on the desk. He rested his forehead on his arms.

"Oh, fuck, Draco," he mumbled. "How in hell shall I cope in this madhouse with you gone? I'm hopeless at politics!"

He blinked back tears, though he didn't really know why: no one was here to witness his maudlin behaviour after all.

"I wouldn't precisely call you 'hopeless'." Draco's voice sounded wry. "And it looks like I'll be around to help you cope. Now stop that whinging, Potter. It's grating on my nerves."

Harry jerked up his head and gasped at the silvery silhouette perched on the corner of the desk.

"Oh, really, Potter," Draco drawled. "Have you never seen a ghost before?"

**oooOooo**

"When did you plan to mention your encounter with that Muggle?"

Hermione startled and stared at her husband. Once more Severus stood in the doorway, scowl fixed, arms crossed.

She sat at her desk, a pile of essays long since graded in front of her. She'd been staring at Barret Cruddace's essay about the Swelling Solution as if it held all the answers. Yet he'd barely scraped an A.

"How do you know about that?", she asked. _Aurors,_ she thought and felt very foolish all of a sudden. _I bet all of us have a secret body guard assigned to watch our every step. That's why he gave in so easily when I wanted to go to London …_

"Unspeakables, actually," Severus said, suddenly relaxing his posture and stepping closer to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "If my suspicions are even remotely correct, this is not a job that Aurors can do anymore."

"It was a priest, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Did the Unspeakables discover anything? Was he a part of that committee Umbridge was working with?" She leant her head back against him. When she looked up at him, it was a strange angle: she only saw his chin and nose, framed by lank, black hair.

He shook his head. "No. But that doesn't mean anything. They must expect us to search for them. They'd make sure there is nothing to be found."

Hermione closed her eyes. "If the Church is responsible for all of this, do you think it's _official?_ I mean …" She opened her eyes again. "… today, with all those political efforts to include very diverse groups into a multicultural, global society – if they tried to hunt us down – there are so many Muggle relatives of witches and wizards – don't you think, if they went public … don't you think that maybe Muggles … _people_ … might come to accept us?" She gave a small laugh, half bitter, half hysterical, as she imagined what would follow: _"The magically challenged. _Would we qualify for an anti-discrimination programme subsidised by the government?"

Severus moved away and sat down on the other side of the desk. For a long moment he remained silent. He stared at her intently, as if he was assessing her frame of mind, while he trailed his right index-finger over his thin lips.

"Just answer two questions, Hermione. The first: what is magic?"

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth only to snap it shut again. Such questions made her nervous, especially when he was asking them. Open-ended questions, where all answers could be wrong and right at the same time. Her heart pounded a little, as she mulled over the question. She wanted to give a good answer; the intelligent, insightful answer he obviously expected of her. At the same time she felt stunned. Such a simple question, and she couldn't remember ever discussing it in class. Of course, philosophy of magic was bread and butter for the Unspeakables, so there might be a reason for this omission in the Hogwarts curriculum.

A talent. A very special talent.

_"We always knew that you had some very special talents." _In retrospect she noticed how strained her father's cheerfulness had been when he said that – and what the look he exchanged with her mother really meant: _"Thank God, it's only special talents. She's not really … different. She's not … handicapped."_ Hermione recalled what Lois had told her of Alina's Muggle diagnosis. ADHD. Special talents indeed.

And an article she'd read: _"While it is a common misconception that humans only use 10 percent or less of their brain, mysteries persist and we still don't know exactly what the human brain is capable of …"_

_"One man's 'magic' is another man's engineering,"_ her father had become fond of quoting whenever she talked about magic at home. He had maintained that it was not so much a talent, or a different set of physical laws, but rather a different perspective, a unique and exceptional approach how to work with the laws of physics.

She shook her head. Valid aspects, certainly. But her reply should define the very _core _of magic, not different aspects in relation to physiology, or physics or …

_Politics._ The witch-hunts of the Middle Ages. The International Statute of Secrecy. The Pacta. Grindelwald's slogan of _'Magic is might'._ Voldemort.

Hermione took a deep breath and met her husband's black gaze.

"Power," she said. "Magic is power."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **"Magic is Might" is a chapter in DH.

"One man's 'magic' is another man's engineering" is a quote from my favourite Science Fiction author, Robert A. Heinlein.


	207. The Second Question

**The Second Question**

"And now the second question: what issue lies at the heart of conflicts and wars, Muggle or magical? Recent history will suffice."

Hermione frowned, then counted down the obvious list in her mind. The first and the second World War. Korea. Vietnam. The Falklands War. The Persian Gulf War. Grindelwald. Voldemort.

She exhaled in a rush.

"Power," Hermione whispered.

Again, Severus nodded. "Trust me, Hermione, it's better if our worlds remain apart. Magic – _people_ with magic – would become nothing but tools of power for the mighty. Weapons to be controlled and used. Can you imagine what that would mean? For you, for Harry, for Alina? Do you think that anyone, any child with magical powers would be allowed to lead a normal life?" He shook his head. "No – the Pacta and the Statute of Secrecy may have many faults, but the initial idea of those treaties has been a saving grace for both our worlds.

"As for your initial question: If my suspicions are true, do I think that we face an official _'crusade'_ of the Church?" He shrugged. Then he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot tell. All we have are more or less vague suspicions. But a concerted effort does not seem very likely, in my opinion. The involvement of Umbridge and the Death Eaters –"

"So you do think that the killings and the curse and the Church-wizards are connected somehow?"

"I haven't survived this long by believing in coincidence," he replied dryly. "But yes, I do think that the events of the last two years are more or less connected. However, here's the catch: I cannot truly see the Church cooperating _'officially'_ with Death Eaters; or even unofficially, to be honest. The Muggle world has gained as much as the wizarding world from the success of the détente since the implementation of the Pacta and the Statute. And the Church is very much aware of the fact. Or why do you think the congregation was re-named in 1908?"

"Times have changed, is that what you want to say?" Hermione asked.

Severus looked weary and worried. She wondered how long he'd been thinking about all of this. How long it had weighed on his mind. How long he'd kept silent about his suspicions. At least since November, when he'd given her the rare copies of the Pacta to read. Had he hoped that she'd come to the same conclusions? Had he been waiting for her to … She mentally shook herself and forced herself to concentrate on the topic of their conversation. She could meditate over her intellectual shortcomings later. All right. So times had changed. But taking into account recent events and Severus' suspicions, what did that mean?

"But times may change again," she ventured. "A détente may unravel. A truce may be broken."

Severus exhaled deeply. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his palms. "Yes, indeed. That's exactly what I told Andromeda. The Inquisition may today be called _'Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith',_ and Pope John Paul II. may have established an official symposium to examine the history of the Inquisition. But this does not mean that the Church suddenly embraces magic as a god-given gift. The old adage of _'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'_ will never be forgotten in certain circles." He looked up again. "However, all things considered, I believe it is more than likely that we are dealing with a group of vigilantes. Much like the Order of the Phoenix, maybe?" He gave her a mirthless smile.

"But –" Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say that the Order was different. But was it? It was certainly not part of the establishment. Or even remotely legal. Though that might change, now that Andromeda was Minister of Magic.

"But –" She fell silent. Then she shook her head and squared her shoulders, probably in typical Gryffindor fashion. "But they are _Muggles._ I mean, they may have a couple of renegade wizards on their side. But when it comes down to it, they're just Muggles. We'll manage."

"Will we?" Severus asked, his tone biting. "And just how well, pray-tell, do you think the average wizard will manage to duck solid projectiles travelling faster than the speed of sound and penetrating soft, unprotected bodies? You don't need magic to kill a wizard."

Hermione gulped. She'd never given a thought to Muggle fire-arms. Severus was right. Which wizard would even recognize a pistol as a weapon? And who'd be quick enough to duck, to cast _'Protego' _between firing and impact. If that was even possible.

"Is it possible at all?" she asked. "To duck, I mean."

Severus gave her a long look. Then he inclined his head. "It is. That is – I did it. Once. Harry might manage." He scowled. "Even if it's just because he's meant to be a pain in my arse for all eternity."

**oooOooo**

Harry stared at Draco's translucent face.

"Draco?" he croaked. "How? Why?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Does the phrase _'unfinished business'_ mean anything to you? It was kind of a bummer to lie there with a damn fish tank crushing my ribs in and breathing my last, when I didn't even know if I'd really found the second half of the Resurrection Stone."

Draco fidgeted. It made him rise a few inches above the tabletop before he sank back down into a perfect simile of his customary posture of boredom and nonchalance, complete with picking at his not quite visible nails.

Harry swallowed hard. He didn't want to imagine how it had been, to lie there with the lobalug's venom coursing through Draco's veins, his ribs crushed by the damn fish tank. Hermione had been right. What a stupid way to die. Obviously, Draco – or Draco's soul – had agreed.

"Gosh," Harry gasped. "I'm really sorry, Draco. But I hope you don't mind me saying that, I'm also terribly glad. To have you back, you know?"

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to Aranel and her husband for help with certain turns of phrase.

Introducing the motif of "unfinished business" is a very respectful nod to one of all time favourite stories, "Unfinished Business" by Ramos. Even on the fifth reading it made me laugh out loud and sob like a child. So: highly recommended.

And please keep in mind: All characters, places and events in this story are either the products of the relevant author's imagination (that is, mostly JKR's, additionally Garth Nix' and sometimes even mine ...) or they are used entirely fictiously. That said, it's true that the congregation was renamed 1908 and that there was a symposium to investigate the Inquisition put into place by Pope John Paul II.

Last but not least, another gentle reminder: the story is not the author. I'm actually a faithful Catholic in real life. But that does not mean I'm blind to the devastating potential of religion in history or in modern politics.


	208. Bright New World

**Bright New World**

Hermione held Hannah while she sobbed. But no one could hold Draco.

**oooOooo**

"Shhh, Hannah, shhh, it's all right. I've got you. It's okay. Shhh..."

Hannah's breath was hot against Hermione's neck. Her robe was quite damp at her shoulder, and her back was beginning to cramp. Hermione hugged Hannah and fervently wished that there was anything she could do.

_Nothing was all right. And it would never be okay. _Her feeble words of comfort sounded hollow in her ears. Draco shouldn't have died in the first place. And he shouldn't have come back in the second place; doomed to dwell in the Ministry of Magic for all eternity.

All right, so Severus and Draco had discovered that Draco could already roam Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley freely. And questioning the members of the Headless Hunt and the ghosts at Hogwarts had yielded information which led them to assume that – as time passed – Draco would be able to venture further abroad. After five hundred or six hundred years, he'd probably be able to attend anniversary celebrations at Hogwarts and to holiday in Majorca.

But for the time being it looked like the Ministry of Magic had a new model employee: one who didn't need sleep, luncheon breaks, holidays or pay. Though Hermione would see to it that he got all three: luncheon breaks, holidays and pay. Ghost or not, Draco should have some rights!

In the living room Hermione heard Severus talking to Draco at his most soothing; his silky voice an audible embrace for the distraught ghost.

"No," Hannah wailed. "Nothing is all right. Draco? Draco? Do you hear me? Draco?!"

"Yes, love?" Draco's voice sounded as translucent as his body, with nothing of his new figure's silvery shimmer.

Hannah drew away from Hermione just a bit, wiping her running nose and wet eyes on the sleeve of her robe like a little girl. And like a small child, she did not let go of Hermione, but clung to her, even as she turned to face Draco, with new tears streaming down her face. As if Hermione was the last anchor in Hannah's world, a world that had completely come adrift.

"It's a boy," Hannah choked out. "I know you were hoping for a girl, but I had the Charm performed only two days ago, and it's a boy, and oh, Merlin, Draco, how can we get married if you're a ghost?"

**oooOooo**

It was late at night (or rather very early in the morning) when Severus and Hermione left Hannah and Draco at last.

Severus had plied Hannah with the strongest calming draught that pregnant women could ingest without ill effects. Draco would stay with her – but not touch her. His touch felt like icy fog in his new incarnation, a sensation that upset his former fiancée very much. And so much agitation wouldn't be good for the baby. Draco was under strict instructions to run – no, _to float_ and summon the ghost of Daisy Dodderidge at the Leaky Cauldron around the corner if Hannah experienced any untoward symptoms.

Although not far from Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's had proved to be out of reach for Draco.

Not so for Daisy. She had died in the middle of the 16th century and returned to haunt her daughter – whose proficiency at the preparation of the Leaky Couldron's famous split pea soup the late Daisy Dodderidge apparently hadn't put much faith in. By January 2001 there were few places on earth that Daisy's ghost couldn't reach if she put her mind to it.

With these arrangements in place, Severus and Hermione felt … not exactly reassured, but at the very least resigned to grant Hannah and Draco the privacy both of them desired.

"I still wish they'd have allowed Harry or you or me to stay for the night …" Hermione muttered. "I didn't like Hannah's colour at all when we left, and I'm not a healer!"

Severus sighed. "Exactly. You're not a healer. And they do need time to come to terms with …"

"How _do_ you come to terms with something like that?" Hermione asked, when they stopped around the corner from Hannah's apartment, getting ready to Apparate back to Hogwarts. "Has something like that ever happened before?"

"Something like what?" Severus bit out. "That someone who was killed by a fish tank and/or a fish came back as a ghost? I don't know. But weirder deaths in history have yielded ghosts; just look at Nearly Headless Nick back home at Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed and simply put her arms around Severus, drawing him close to her.

If anything, the news that Draco had returned as a ghost had been harder on Severus than to hear that Draco had died in the first place. Hermione hugged her husband as tightly as she could.

Diagon Alley was cold and dark and damp on this January night. Severus' robes smelled more of wet wool than of his arousing, personal scent. But she felt how he shuddered beneath the layers of fabric that shielded him from the world. And she was shivering, too, although it was far warmer in London than in Scotland.

"At least he'll get to see his son," she whispered.

_"And_ how his fiancée eventually marries another," Severus retorted. "How the woman he loved and desired finds love and release in another man's arms."

He inhaled sharply. "Sometimes I loathe the wizarding world," Severus admitted bitterly.

Hermione thought of her parents and their new daughter. Of all the friends she had lost and the ones she might lose yet.

Oh yes, the Muggle world was dangerous, too: there were car accidents and crime. You could be robbed, raped and killed in any dark alley in London.

But still – sometimes it seemed the safer, softer, brighter world of the two.

A world that knew nothing of ghosts, Inferi and Dementors. A world, in which evil witches were the stuff of fairy tales and baked in ovens until they couldn't harm anyone anymore.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **According to the HPL Daisy Dodderidge was the original owner of the Leaky Cauldron and died in 1555.

The fairy tale alluded to at the end is "Haensel and Gretel" as collected by the Brothers Grimm.

And of course the title of the chapter is a not too clever allusion to Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World".


	209. Arithmantic Procrastination

**Arithmantic Procrastination**

Suddenly a thought occurred to Hermione and she pulled away from her husband.

For a moment she studied his profile: frowning brow, aquiline nose, stubborn chin, all outlined by the sputtering gas lanterns of Diagon Alley. She knew Severus was upset. But in the dim light it was difficult to make out his expression. Not at all how he would look like in the neon light of the street lamps near the house where she'd grown up. Instead her surroundings appeared far removed from the 21st century. In a competition of settings for a remake of 'Oliver Twist', Diagon Alley would have won in a blink, all dingy and dirty and downtrodden.

"Could you –" She inhaled deeply – hesitated – exhaled. Halted. Forced herself to continue: "Could you bind and banish Draco? Take him beyond the Veil? I – I take it – from – well, Harry asked Nearly Headless Nick about death, and –"

She couldn't continue.

Severus had already laid his hands around her waist in preparation for the Apparition. Now he let them slide away and drop to his sides. He heaved a weary sigh. "You couldn't have waited with that conclusion until we were home, could you?"

Hermione shivered in the nightly breeze. The already faint flames of the street light above them flickered in the wind, darkening their corner of Diagon Alley even more.

His eyes were bleaker than the night that surrounded them.

"Yes," he said at last. "I could. I can. – And I _will,_ _when_ Draco asks me to."

**oooOooo**

Hermione held the pensieve gingerly in her cupped hands, much like the chalice of the gods of old or the holy grail of the Christian God.

Why call it _'Sempiternal Solution' _if it did not, in fact, _last_ for all eternity?

But the scanner of Genevieve Ollivander had revealed only mere remnants of magical power clinging to their wands that could be attributed to the Sempiternal Solution.

The conclusion was, of course, that the potion had worn off after the wands had been dragged beyond the Veil and back.

In other words, they had to brew another batch of Sempiternal Solution. If Hermione wanted Severus back with her in order to make _new_ memories, she would have to let go of three more memories of him that were precious to her now.

She pushed the pensieve away and raised her head to stare out of the window over the surface of the lake. The last glitter of sunlight was rapidly fading from the water, leaving it black like ink and very still in this cold winter night.

Hermione knew she was stalling.

But she couldn't help it. That's silly, she told herself. After all, I know now that I'll get the memories back.

Yes, she would get them back. Pale, faded copies of what was now fresh and vibrant in her mind. But they'd still be there. Not gone. Not lost. Just faded, as if they'd been with her for years and years and years, as if other memories surpassed these.

And 'lost' was the wrong word anyway. Because without the Sempiternal Solution and the spell that connected their wands and turned Severus' wand into a key, Severus and Harry would not return from beyond the Veil.

But still. Now, here and now, she had to pick thoughts, words, feelings and touches that were fresh and new and good and dear.

She sighed and picked up her pen – a plain Muggle biro – and nice Moleskine notebook that Harry had given her for Christmas.

Absentmindedly, she began to doodle.

A smiley.

A silly heart with H & S inside, complete with a clumsy swirl.

A skull.

What do I know? she wondered. Automatically, her pen moved to jot down a "#1".

Escaped Death Eaters had started killing Muggle- borns. And Muggles. She shuddered when she thought of what had happened to Severus' erstwhile neighbours. Pretty much right after the battle. No surprise there. No one in their right mind would ever expect the likes of Fenrir Greyback to turn into tame lap-dogs.

Umbridge had been demoted once more. And Shacklebolt had shunted that job as liason between the wizarding world and that Church committee off to Umbridge and no doubt had a good laugh about it.

Dumbledore's grave had been blown up and the Elder Wand had disappeared.

She had been attacked after the concert and had seen the Dark Mark burn again upon a Death Eater's arm.

More people had been killed. The Ministry had come up with that brilliant ploy of using the protective tattoo on Muggle-born witches and wizards.

Umbridge and – or – the strange Necromancers had somehow sabotaged the spell that infused the tattoos. But in consequence Dumbledore's portrait had frozen and that had alerted the Order. Then she and Severus had discovered that the tattoos were leeching their magic off into the Realm of Death.

At the same time the attacks on Muggle-borns had ceased. Draco and Percy had searched the Ministry for hints. Umbridge had killed Shacklebolt. Someone had killed Umbridge.

#2: Somehow that doesn't add up. It just doesn't make sense in one neat equation.

Hermione stared at what she had written.

_Yes, that's what I'm after – one neat equation that explains everything._

You rarely get what you want in this world, she admonished herself. She frowned. Equation. _Damn._ I've been forgetting not only the basics of Muggle algebra, but of wizarding Arithmancy.

I'm looking at an equation. In Muggle algebra that means _two _sides joined by the equals sign, and of course the basic Arithmantic equation asks for no less than three equal sides.

_So:_ What had Umbridge wanted?

That was easy: if possible, to kill all Muggles. If that was not possible, to kill all Muggle-borns and all other Half-breeds. If that was not possible, keep them from –

Hermione's heart was beating faster and her throat was suddenly quite unaccountably dry.

If that was not possible, to keep them from –

_From –_

Breeding? From growing up, marrying, from having magically gifted children?

**oooOooo**


	210. A Blissful Happy Smile, Lightly Expended

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**A Blissful Happy Smile, Lightly Expended**

Yes, Hermione thought. Umbridge had been that evil. That woman had wanted to kill. She had craved power. And she would hurt you simply because she _could._

Hermione shuddered at the thought of the letters cut into the back of Harry's hand. He might have gone a little over the top with those bright tattoos, but she could understand how he didn't want to live with the message Umbridge's quill had bequeathed to him for the rest of his life.

But what about those strange Necromancers? If Severus was right, if they were connected with the Church, what was their agenda, their side of the equation?

Hermione leant back in her chair. What do I know about the Church? she mused. Firmly, she shut up the voices in her mind that screamed 'not enough, not enough'.

Originally, they wanted to kill all witches and wizards. It was a simple as that.

A thought hit her. If they couldn't do that, what would _they_ settle for? For taking out all half-breeds, only in reverse? To keep bad blood from spreading? Hermione shuddered. To keep _magic_ from spreading. Wasn't that what the treaties and the Statute of Secrecy had been all about? To contain magic. To keep magical people and magic segregated.

She stared at the big Arithmantic equals sign she'd drawn and redrawn while she was thinking. The third side of the equation.

That would be _them. _The Order. Harry. Severus. Dumbledore. _Death._

_And I,_ she whispered, feeling cold and scared.

In a daze, she drew the pensieve to her breast and raised her wand to her temple.

_… how she'd kissed Severus, right after he'd come back, how his lips had been so cold, and how she'd cried when she'd felt his breath on her cheek, so haltingly, so soft, but – oh my God! – so alive …_

_… how she'd held him when they'd left Draco and Hannah – not just because it was such a recent memory, but because it felt so REAL to her, not beautiful, not important, not at all romantic, but – real – solid …_

_… taking his hand in the theatre during the ballet …_

Her wand fell from her hand, a wooden tattoo on the table.

Now she only remembered that this had once been one of her best, one of her most _vital _and beautiful memories. The sounds, the sights, the touch of his hand – she was almost certain that there _had been_ his hand involved somehow – all of that was gone.

What remained was an acute sense of loss and swirling silvery shades in the pensieve.

**oooOooo**

Severus Snape suppressed a sigh. It had been difficult to choose the memories for the potion the first time around. And though he didn't regret gifting their pale shadows to Hermione, he still regretted their loss. Yes: he was that selfish.

He'd written down their content … and still, when he read his account of the memories he'd lost, he could only shake his head in a bemused fashion. _These _memories had been a part of him? Such an essential part that he'd chosen them as ingredients for this potion?

And yet, he _knew_ they had been. He had written down how and why he had chosen which memories. He had described them in detail: their facts, but also the emotions they had caused within him.

But to read those accounts … it was almost like reading a story, or poetry – fanciful flights of imagination that seemed to have no or little connection with his real life. Still … there were _other _memories that supported what he'd written. That told him every word was true. How she …

Severus was aware that he was stalling. Choosing those first three memories had been hard. This time, making the choice was almost unbearable. Memories of Hermione. He shook his head. He hadn't realised his head and heart held so many of them, or held them dear. Even the earliest ones, those that ought to have faded to grey on their own account by now. Only they hadn't.

Of course he hadn't noticed her as a _man_ then – just as a _teacher _notices a bright and overly eager student. Later, of course, she'd been on his mind as one of the Golden Trio – someone he had to watch and protect.

And then there had been that moment when he'd noticed how she was turning into a woman. He smiled wryly. He might be a teacher, but he was a man first. He did notice when his girls turned into women – except for the odd wallflower or late bloomer. Most of the time, they went away in June as children and returned in September as women; some between their fifth and their sixth year, some between their sixth and their seventh year.

But with Hermione it had been a gradual process. Or maybe he'd simply paid more attention to her. Small wonder, since he'd been forced to keep an eye on Potter constantly. And if you were looking out for Harry at that time, this included looking out _for _and looking _at _Hermione.

It had started with Victor Krum, of course.

What was it that Minerva had said about Hermione and Krum? He frowned. And when had they spoken about that anyway? Something about being in love and loving – _ah, yes:_ that Hermione had been in love with Krum, but smart enough not to love him. And that she loved Ron Weasley, but that she wasn't _in _love with him.

Well, he remembered how she'd looked at Krum.

Though – that evening – there had been one moment, one short, breathless, meaningless moment – when she had smiled at him. She probably hadn't intended it. Twirling, dancing, her smile had come floating by, not intended for him, a blissful happy smile, lightly expended upon her blind and breathless game _– upon this blind and loveless man._

With another sigh and the strangest feeling of pain and bliss inextricably linked, Severus raised his wand to his temple.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **The title of this chapter and its last lines contain a textual allusion to one of my favourite German poems "The Carousel" by Rainer Maria Rilke. At first reading, it's just about an old-fashioned carousel. But if you look beyond the immediate meaning of the words, you'll find that it's actually about life.

It felt very appropriate for that once scene when Hermione dances happily with Viktor ...

Here's a translation by Albert Ernest Flemming:

**The Carousel by Rainer Maria Rilke**

Under its roof that casts a cooling shadow  
the carousel keeps circling for a while  
with brightly painted horses, all from the land  
that lingers long before it disappears.  
THough some of them are pulling carriages,  
still all show pride and boldness in their mien;  
a vicious-looking lion, all in red, goes with them,  
and now and then appears a snow-white elephant.

Even a stag is there, just as in woodlands,  
save that he wears a saddle on which rides  
a little girl in blue, securely buckled.

Upon the lion's back a boy in white  
rides, holding anxiously onto the reins,  
while fierce the lion shows his teeth and tongue.

And now and then appears a snow-white elephant.

And on their horse they come charging by,  
among them girls who almost have outgrown  
this galloping of steeds; midway in passing  
they look about, across, up, over, anywhere --

And now and then appears a snow-white elephant.

And so it circles round and hurries on toward  
the finish, always turning, for it has no goal.  
A red, a green, a grey keep flying past us --  
a little profile comes and is already gone.  
At times a smile comes floating by, for us  
intended, a blissful happy smile, lightly  
expended upon this blind and breathless game.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	211. I Want to Make a Memory – Good Ones

**I Want to Make a Memory, Part I**

Hermione stepped up to Severus and simply took the bowl with the Sempiternal Solution from his hands. For a second she hesitated, the bowl cradled in her palms, and met his gaze, so black, so sad, yet so incredibly dear. "Come, Severus. It's time."

He stood stiff and tense, his thoughts obviously running ahead to the next day and the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. With a sigh she placed the chalice with the Solution on the worktable. She closed the distance between them and rose on tiptoe, holding onto his forbiddingly crossed arms to keep her balance. Her lips only inches away from his, she whispered: "I want to make a memory."

Softly she exhaled, blowing her breath against his neck. He shivered. Satisfied, she noted how his eyes lost that bleak, distant stare, how they acquired a certain glitter.

"Or maybe two," she murmured, stretching even further up to brush his lips with hers. "Come. The bedroom this time, I think."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**Read the rest of the chapter at my website!**

******Rating: **The rest of the chapter contains an explicit sex scene rated 'M'/'R'. Only follow the link if it is legal for you to read such material where you are.

******Link: **Just translate the following link into a proper url.

_(no www)_ juno-magic. _slash_ blog _slash_ the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer _slash_ part-22

* * *

******oooOooo**

******"Good Ones" – I Want to Make a Memory, Part 2**

"There," Madame Dubois wiped Alina's right arm. "An Eihwaz to go with the Elhaz. A tree's branches and a tree's roots. The sun above and the earth below. Life and Death. Sounds quite dramatic, _n'est-ce pas?"_ She winked at Alina.

"At least you have all of your magic at your disposal again from now on," she added dryly.

Alina eyed the small black tattoos on her arms. "If there wasn't all that stuff about life and death and that curse," she said, "then they'd be pretty cool, you know? At least in the Muggle world."

Madame Dubois smiled and cleaned her inking tools with a flick of her wand. "Oh, they are pretty cool in the wizarding world, too, especially with all that stuff about life and death."

"Why did I get the other tattoo, and the other Muggle-born students don't?" Alina asked. The Seventh Year prefect of Slytherin House, Graham Pritchard, had taken her to the headmistress who had in turn taken her to a small study where Madame Dubois had been waiting for her.

"The nature of the leeching curse," Madame Dubois explained calmly. "Its strength remains the same, no matter how many or how few victims it can feed upon. Thus, it will kill swiftly if there are few afflicted, but will be barely noticeable for a long time when there are many."

Alina frowned and had to ball her hands to fists in order to keep herself from clutching her arms. "Why did you do give me that second tattoo in that case?" she asked. "Doesn't that make the curse worse for the other victims?"

Madame Dubois nodded. "Yes, it does. But although you are young, you are powerful. And you _are_ a Necromancer. There may be need of your powers – unfettered by any curse. The headmistress and your mother both agree with me."

Alina's stomach lurched. Tomorrow they would accompany Hermione to the White Horse at Uffington once more. "I'm scared," she whispered. "Somehow I have a really bad feeling about tomorrow."

She looked at the French witch, hoping to see her shake her head and offer a soothing smile to chase away silly hunches and laugh off nightmares. Instead, she met a serious expression and eyes trained on some far-off place only visible to Madame Dubois.

"So do I, _ma chére,_ so do I," Dubois said softly, her slender, elegant fingers toying with the shimmering gauze of her Demiguise-scarf. Then she turned her attention to Alina, her eyes dark and serious. "No matter what happens, you must not forget your weaknesses or your strengths. You're not a fully qualified witch. You are not strong enough to survive in the River of Death for long. And to pass beyond the Veil on your own would be nothing but suicide. But you are a Necromancer. You have power in Death. Power – to a certain extent – over death."

"Why are you telling me all that?" Alina asked and wished that she could keep her voice from shaking.

Madame Dubois hesitated, then she shrugged elegantly. Alina thought that whatever the witch was going to say next would be at best a part of the truth.

"Just a feeling, maybe," Dubois said. "A wish to take all available precautions."

"Then I'm a precaution?"

Madame Dubois's gaze was suddenly very bright and piercing. "You're born a Necromancer, Alina. You will always be a power to be reckoned with. But it will be up to you to decide on which side of the equals sign your power will be added."

_Just a fancy way of saying I can choose between Good and Evil, _Alina thought. Still itching to rub her arms, she lowered her hands to her knees and gripped them hard through the dark fabric of her skirt. _My father chose the wrong side. Though … did he even know he was going to Voldemort, when he went away?_

"At least now I have power to add somewhere," she muttered. She met Madame Dubois' gaze squarely. "I'm not my father," Alina stated stubbornly. "I'm not a coward or a weakling. If there's anything I can do to help Professor Snape or Hermione, no matter what, I'll do it."

******oooOooo**

"So did we make good ones tonight?" Hermione mumbled, her mouth pressed against his chest.

He frowned. What weighed on his mind was anything but good. "What?"

She tilted her head back so she could watch his profile. Her fingers were drawing patterns of protective runes on his chest. He wondered if she even realised what she was doing.

"Good memories," she said, as if that explanation was patently obvious. "After using three more memories in that potion, we're sorely in need of some new ones."

For a moment he felt dumbstruck. Then his cock twitched slightly, as if to remind him just how good the memories were they had created that night.

"Some of the best," he managed at last, his voice rough in the aftermath of vigorous lovemaking.

"You know," she murmured after a moment's silence, "tonight the effects of that potion and that spell were even more mind-blowing than the first time. Do you think that this will affect the strength of the bond?"

He noticed that she was trying not to sound hopeful. Severus pondered her question as well as the hopefulness that had been audible in Hermione's voice.

His life had given him little incentive for optimism. Quite the opposite. Yet lying here tonight, with his young wife in his arms and the scent of sex in the air, he found it difficult not to feel hopeful, too. After all, he and Harry had gone beyond the Veil once before and returned. And Harry was the damn Boy-Who-Lived-And-Lived-And-Lived.

_And Hermione?_ He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. And for once he did not suppress it, but allowed it to take control of his face.

_Hermione was the one who'd given him the key to the door to life. In more than one way._

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of these chapters refers to the song "You want to make a memory" by Bon Jovi.


	212. Goodbyes

**Goodbyes **

Hermione staggered from the bed. Her knees were so weak she could barely walk. She wobbled dangerously and had to grab for the door frame to keep herself upright.

"Merlin, Severus – you've shagged my legs out from underneath me!"

Laughter bubbled up inside her. She willed her muscles to cooperate and glanced back at the bed. Severus was watching her with an undeniably smug, self-satisfied smile. Hermione beamed at him, then she tottered into the bathroom.

The hot shower helped to get her legs back under control. Unfortunately it also brought back thoughts of what lay ahead that day. For Severus and Harry, the Department of Mysteries and the Death Chamber. The Veil. The Curse. _Death._

And for herself … another chilly picnic at the White Horse of Uffington. This time with a full guard of Aurors, just in case. Disillusioned so they wouldn't raise any suspicion. Not that anyone was likely to notice them at the White Horse late on a January evening. That was not exactly the time of the year or the time of day for a visit there.

Of course that strange Muggle priest had found her in the middle of London, in a crowded bookshop. _If _he had_ –_ if it wasn't all just stupid coincidence.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, Hermione experienced a strange reluctance to turn off the water and step out of the tub to face the day and all that lay ahead.

"But we did it," she muttered to herself, as she carefully washed herself and smiled at the sore feeling between her legs. "We made the potion, we did the spell, and if it wasn't even better than last time, my name's Argus Filch."

As she lathered her breasts she remembered how Severus' hands had felt on them, cupping them gently, squeezing them almost reverently.

_We made some beautiful new memories last night,_ she thought.

When she left the bathroom at last, she was feeling confident once more and smiled almost cheerfully at Severus before turning to their armoire to pick out what to wear underneath her Apprentice robes that day.

**oooOooo**

Later Hermione couldn't say how the day passed. In a blur of faces and classes and lunch. She was dimly aware of how lucky she was that her students were kind enough not to exploit her distraction. But she never stopped to wonder if they knew something or if they were just worried to see her so pale and obviously anxious when she thought they weren't looking.

**oooOooo**

"Are you sure you want to accompany us again, Lois?" Ron asked. He'd stayed at Lois' place for the night and now he was getting ready to leave for the shop and Diagon Alley. "I mean, look at last time. It was cold and damp and boring. Nothing happened at all. Just standing around in the rain for two hours. And this time there'll be a full guard of Aurors, just in case."

He winced under his girlfriend's fierce motherly glare.

"If there are all those Aurors there, Ron," Lois replied icily, "then there's no reason for me to stay behind at all, is there? It's completely safe."

Then she grabbed his arms and pulled him close to her. "Alina will be there. I'm her mother. Of course I'm going, you moron."

After a long moment Ron released a shuddering breath. _Mothers were scary things, witches and Muggles alike. _

"I'm sorry, Lois," he mumbled. "Of course you're going. I just – you know, I felt I should ask?"

She just raised her eyebrows at him.

He sighed. "I'll be back in time to take you there."

**oooOooo**

Ginny hugged Harry fiercely. She wouldn't be at the White Horse at Uffington that Monday. The Holyhead Harpies had an open training and she'd wrangled one of her rare free days out of Rita Skeeter so she could participate. When it became clear that this arrangement would coincide with Harry's second escapade into the Realm of Death, she had wanted to cancel. But he would hear nothing of it.

Finally she'd given in, though she wondered how well she'd be flying with that kind of a distraction. Or indeed, if she'd manage to stay on her broom at all.

"It'll be all over within two hours or so," Harry insisted. "There's no need to cut your day short. It's such a great opportunity for you. And I'm going to feel better if I know that you're doing something useful and not sitting around, fretting about me. Hermione and Alina will be fine. Madame Dubois, Ron and Lois are going to be there and a dozen Aurors."

Ginny sighed. "I know you're right. But damn, sometimes I hate your job."

Harry grinned. "Sometimes I hate it, too. Especially the paperwork."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah. You actually like a day in the field, don't you? The thrill of danger and all that. Like that Muggle agent, what's his face? 700, 800 something?"

"Said the witch who's going to fly for the Harpies …"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Harry complied enthusiastically. But she was aware that he pretended not to see the tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. "Be as careful as possible, do you hear? I want you back in one piece. And – if anything happens – don't forget –"

He held up his hands. The tattoos with the symbols of the four Houses of Hogwarts shone brightly in the dim bedroom of Grimmauld Place. "As if I ever could. Thank you, Ginny. I promise I'll try. I'll do my best."

"I know," she whispered. "You always do, you oaf."

**oooOooo**

Hermione clung to Severus and wished she could say _'Just come back to me'._

But she couldn't. Not after Draco's return as a ghost. She loved Severus too much to want him to come back as a ghost.

Thus their goodbye remained silent: a tight, intense embrace in the privacy of their chambers, concluded with a kiss that really didn't need any words.

******oooOooo**


	213. Morituri Te Salutant

**Morituri Te Salutant**

It was different this time.

The chamber was the same, of course. The black archway with the tattered cloak that whispered in a wind they could not feel.

But Harry smiled at him as if he were an old friend. And Minerva clucked over _both_ of them as if they were helpless little chicks just out of the egg or kittens the first time out of the basket. Andromeda kept back, however, and stayed with Draco. The ghost couldn't bring himself to enter the Death Chamber, and remained a shivery, silvery shadow at the back of the hallway.

"They should be there now," Bill Weasley said.

Yes, this time a veritable guard of honour accompanied them right up to the archway.

Harry drew a deep breath and looked expectantly at him. Severus just nodded and invoked the spell that would join his wands to those of his wife for all eternity – even beyond the Veil.

_"Coniungo,"_ he murmured. Instantly, an almost painful stab of desire hit the pit of his stomach. Reached deeper. Made his cock twitch and surge. He'd never been more glad of his robes. He licked suddenly dry lips and wondered how Hermione was faring on the dusty white stones at Uffington.

_"Coniungo."_ The feeling grew. Tighter. He closed his eyes. _"Per vitam ad mortem. A morte ad vitam. Coniungo."_ Merlin. What if he was not able to hold back? If the spell was too powerful? His fingers cramped painfully around his wands.

_"Coniungo! In sempiternum." _He felt her answer instantly. An echo of the casting of the spell. Desire. Longing. Heat. Desperately he tried to cling to a last remnant of rational thought, to keep his body from –

"Merlin," he ground out. "I – Just a minute."

He hurried out of the chamber and down the hallway to the nearest loos. Once inside he leaned back against the cool tiles and gasped for breath. He flicked his wand at his nether region in a voiceless _Scourgify._

"That's one hell of a spell, pardon the pun."

Severus cracked open his eyes and glowered at the ghost. But Draco remained unfazed.

"Glad I could provide some entertainment," Severus spat.

"I've always begrudged others their prizes," Draco whispered. "It's how I was brought up. To always crave everything. To want what I could not have above everything else. You have no idea how it is to exist like this …"

Draco's words worked better than a cold shower. His erection wilted within moments.

"Draco –" he whispered, although he didn't know what to say.

But the ghost was gone.

"Everything okay?" Harry had opened the door just a crack and peered in hesitantly.

Mere weeks ago he'd have snarled at Harry. Now he couldn't summon the necessary energy. Severus shrugged and concentrated on the wall. "The connection has been established and seems to be even stronger than the last time."

Severus noted how that knowledge made Harry swallow hard. He didn't even sigh. Just stopped moving for a second. _Would it be better for Hermione if he didn't return? What place could he ever claim among her friends?_

Then he realised that Harry was shaking his head at him. "What?" he bit out.

"I'm just a little envious, is all," Harry said equably. "Not because of Hermione," he hurried to add. "I've never liked her like that. Not really. But see, the kind of connection you two have – I have no clue where it comes from. And you know? Me and Ginny – we rub along real well. And I love her and she loves me. And I fully expect us to be happy until we're old and grey and wrinkled and worse. But …" He shook his head. "It's just not, I don't know, I'm really not sure if what Ginny and I have is loads healthier or if we ought to be envious as all hell, because what the two of you have going is just that intense. That's all. Really.

"Umm. Right. Uh. I'm waffling. Sorry, sir. Let's just, uh – go?"

He held out his hand to Severus. For a moment Severus stared blankly at the hand of the young man before him, colourful tattoo, slender wrist, fine-toned muscles.

"The _Incarcerous,"_ Harry reminded him.

"Of course."

Once more the magical leather bonds wrapped themselves tightly around their hands and forearms.

"You've got the sword?" He didn't know why he asked. Gryffindor's sword attached to Harry's belt was kind of hard to miss.

"You've got the bells?" Harry retorted. His wry grin told Severus that he felt exactly the same. The same mixture of fear and anticipation, of relief and courage. Severus grinned back before he could stop himself.

Severus had no idea when and how this had happened, but not even he could deny it anymore: Somewhere along the way they had become friends. James Potter's brat. Lily's beloved son. _And he._

Together they entered the Death Chamber and walked right up to the Veil.

"Shall we?" Severus asked.

"Not without a proper greeting," Harry retorted and cocked his eyebrows, green eyes flashing.

Severus hoped he was assessing the younger man's intentions correctly, when they turned back to an audience of friends, allies and Ministry employees.

They raised their tied hands in a stern salute and chanted a final greeting: _"Morituri te salutant!" _

Then Severus dragged them around to the left until they faced the Veil. As if on cue, a breeze out of nowhere billowed the Veil so that its soft, ragged seams touched their cheeks.

Severus glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "Do you actually _know_ the phrase or have you merely been reading Asterix comics?"

Harry grinned. "I happen to like Asterix."

**oooOooo**

The Veil swept across their faces in a cool caress. Then they were on the other side, and everything was silent and grey. But mostly silent. There was no dark figure, no hurdy-gurdy grinding away. No Death personified. Just the dim twilight of the Asphodel Meadows.

They were back.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **"Morituri te salutant" - those who are destined to die greet you; the gladiators in ancient Rome greeted the emperor with these words before they fought and died.


	214. Here We Go Again

**Here We Go Again**

"Well, wow," Harry said. "So here we go again."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Bloody hell, why am I so jittery?" With a quick gesture he reassured himself that the Elder Wand was in its sheath next to Gryffindor's sword and that the small jewellery box with the other half of the Resurrection Stone was safely tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He inhaled deeply. "Right. I guess since _– uh –_ there's no one here, we should summon a guide again."

Severus stuck the birch wand that had turned into a key to the Gate between Life and Death again securely into the bandolier with his Necromantic bells. He secured his other wand just above it. Then he drew Godric Gryffindor's sword from its sheath at Harry's side.

"Still fond of those tattoos?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry bit down on his lip. "Very."

He offered Severus the back of his left fore-arm instead and closed his eyes.

**oooOooo**

Harry watched how Hedwig circled over a non-descript spot in the middle of the Asphodel Meadows. He'd miss her when they returned to the lands of the living. But now, at least, he could imagine her forever whirling around these grey skies.

When he narrowed his eyes, he noticed the small speck of a black stone floating a foot above the ground, and an area of mint and grass that looked as if someone had trampled the plants. That's where he and Severus had sat down the last time they were here. Would it stay like that forever? In a place with no rain and no wind, that was entirely possible.

They stood in front of the Resurrection Stone. In front of Dumbledore's soul.

Frozen, silent.

At last Hedwig swooped down and settled on the ground below a particularly high Asphodel plant.

"Right," Harry said and swallowed hard. "Time to summon Dobby."

He held out his arm to Severus once more, eyeing the thin white scar of the cut that had called Hedwig. When they got back, he'd look like a cutter. And what the hell was he going to tell Severus about the ownership of the Elder Wand?

**oooOooo**

"Give me the wand," Severus ordered.

Dobby – or the visualization of his soul – cowered on the other side of the floating Resurrection Stone. He was looking nervously from Harry to Severus and back. Harry wondered if the soul of the house-elf could see who the owner of the Elder Wand really was.

Harry inhaled deeply. "No," he said simply. "I won't. Actually, I _can't._ Because _I_ am the true Owner of the Elder Wand. Not you."

Severus jerked against their bonds so sharply that the thongs cut deep into the tender flesh of Harry's wrist. "Ouch," Harry yelped. "Stop that!"

"What did you do? What in the name of Merlin, Nimuë and all the saints, have you _done?"_

Harry turned his head to face his friend. _Yes: friend,_ he thought to himself. He studied Severus for a moment, before he replied.

Severus Snape was 41 years old, but he looked older. Of course the stark contrast of pale skin, black eyes and black hair had always set him apart. _Apart._ Yes, Severus Snape had always existed apart – separated, secluded, and excluded – from everyone else. Harry's own father had had his part in shaping this existence of black and white shades of loneliness. _Black._ Severus could be an utterly obstinate arsehole and enjoy himself immensely in the process. Harry remembered well how he'd hated Snape. _Yes: Hated. Loathed._ His stomach cramped with the memory of this honest, if ignorant emotion.

And still, in spite of it all, this man had tried to protect him for years and years. And succeeded.

Against all odds.

Then I'll succeed _now,_ Harry told himself stubbornly. Against all odds.

Because, he reasoned, now I know about the _white_ shades, too. How Severus loved my mum. How he _loves _Hermione. And even me, in a way, I guess. How he'd done everything he could. _Everything. Always._

"I couldn't let you do it," Harry said simply. "You've done enough. More than enough."

Black eyes bored into him. "And you haven't?!"

Harry shrugged. At last he offered Severus a wry grin. "It was a decision I _could_ make. At least I thought I could. So I did. Looks like I got lucky. Let's hope my luck holds, okay?"

For a moment, Severus just stared at him. The tiny vein in his temple pulsed and the muscle in his jaw twitched. And his hand was balled to an iron fist within the leather bonds that tied them together for the duration of their stay in the Realm of Death.

At last Severus dragged his free hand through his lank hair. Harry exhaled softly. He hadn't really thought that Severus would try to kill or hex him on the spot. The circumstances would have rendered that kind of retaliation highly ridiculous. But he hadn't been completely sure. With Severus Snape, Harry guessed, no one except possibly Hermione could ever be completely sure of anything.

"Potter," Severus said, though his tone was not entirely hostile, "you're an idiot."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "I know."

Severus just shook his head. His expression grew very serious. "Harry, are you really sure that you want to do this? I – this is beyond the most bizarre Muggle or magical metaphysics, but … neither you nor I have any idea what this means to D– to Albus' soul. If you cannot do this, I am sure we can find a way to transfer the ownership to me painlessly."

"You mean, by playing rock-paper-scissors? No way, Severus. You must be aware that I've blamed you for Dumbledore's death before. I was an idiot. Well, considering the circumstances, maybe not too much of an idiot, but still. Look at it as a method of getting even in a roundabout way."

"But that's the problem, Harry," Severus said softly. "I no longer desire to get even. Not with you, nor with anyone else."

******oooOooo**


	215. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men**

_"… in sempiternum,"_ Hermione gasped and swayed. The backlash of the spell swept through her. Brought her to her knees. Her fingers tightened convulsively around her wands. Her arms, her hands, raised to the evening sky as if in supplication, trembled.

"Hermione," Ron cried and started running towards her. "Is everything okay?"

From a distant corner of her mind, Hermione observed how Madame Dubois stepped in front of him, how Lois frowned intensely (and which woman _wouldn't_ frown when her lover wanted to run to another's side while that woman moaned in orgasm?) and how Alina looked on with a wide-eyed expression of curiosity and confusion.

Awkwardly Hermione slumped back and landed on her arse with a thump, while her body still shivered with delicious tremors. She drew her legs against her body and propped her elbows onto her knees. In the icy wind her tears and damp knickers felt quickly uncomfortable, cold and sticky against her skin.

_Severus,_ she thought, desperately. _Severus._

Biting on her lower lip, she wondered how close their bodyguards were to the scene. Probably close enough, though Disillusioned as they were, she couldn't be sure. She tried not to think of how she felt about having a dozen witnesses to what she looked like during her climax, but the state of her underwear made that rather difficult.

Hermione sighed. She should be thankful for small mercies, really. Wasn't it far better to ponder her embarrassment than to think of what Harry and Severus were doing right now?

**oooOooo**

"Okay," Harry said and laid the Elder Wand, the jewellery box with the second half of the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak (carefully folded so that its visible, inner side was facing upwards – he really didn't fancy groping around the Asphodel Meadows searching for an invisible Invisibility Cloak) on the ground in front of him. Then he turned to the quivering house-elf. "So what's the spell to break that curse, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes grew huge and dark, his bat-like ears drooped and flattened against his skull. "Oh, oh," he wailed. "Ohohohohohhhh." Trembling, his eyes wet with tears, he raised his head. "Is no spell, sir. No spell. Just the curse to break. _Ohohohohohhhhh …"_

Next to him, Harry felt how Severus' shoulders slumped in defeat. "Of course," the Necromancer whispered. "That is the reason why Dumbledore wanted me to break the curse."

"What?" Harry turned his head and looked at Severus. Somehow he had the feeling that he was missing something essential about the whole scene. And something very, very bad.

"This curse was never meant to be broken," Severus said, his tone bitter. "The Necromancers that originally created the curse set it up so that it would fade away with the death of the last tattooed Muggle-born witch or wizard. They did not want it to be broken and there was no need for a safe-guard. It would simply fade away with the last death. The subsequent manipulation of the curse did not change its original set-up."

"Yeah, breaking the curse to give her the power of several thousands witches and wizards would have been the last thing on Umbridge's mind. Damn. So how do you break a curse without a counter-curse?" There had been a course about curse-breaking during Auror training, but that was really a matter for experts and not for field-agents as a rule.

"With power and focus," Severus replied wearily. "Basically, you will the curse to be broken. Few wizards have the power to simply break potent spells. Fewer still have the focus necessary to accomplish this."

"But you do?"

"How do you think I became an Occlumens that could hide my true allegiance from the Dark Lord for years?" Severus asked, his voice harsh. "This is mind magic. It relies on power, on stamina, and on focus, concentration." He snorted. "That's all there is to it."

Harry stared at the Hallows laid out before him. _Mind magic. Occlumency. Power and focus. _Memories overwhelmed him, how he'd tried to fight Snape, how he'd tried to keep him out of his mind, and how he'd become distracted again and again and again. How he had never had enough focus to control his mind sufficiently to even protect himself.

He started to shiver from somewhere deep inside.

"I can't do it," he choked. "I may have power, but I can't do it. You know that. Better than anyone else."

Nausea washed over him. He had wanted to protect Severus. And what had he done? He'd ended up ruining everything. _Everything._

_The best laid plans of mice and men …_ He suppressed the hysterical laughter that was twisting his throat. Dobby's moaning echoed in his ears. _Ohohohohohohhhh …_

Then, suddenly, he was completely calm. As if a switch was flicked over in his brain. There was a solution. Clear and concise it rested in his mind.

He found that he couldn't face Severus.

"You've got to kill me," he said. "You've got to kill me and gain the ownership of the Elder Wand."

For a moment silence surrounded them. Even Dobby had stopped wailing.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. "I just didn't think it through."

At his side, Severus sighed. "You certainly did not. And you haven't thought through your noble offer of self-sacrifice, either. Do you really think you could put up an _honest _fight against me now?"

He shifted and to Harry's shock briefly squeezed his hand within the confines of the magical bonds of the _Incarcerous _spell. "Or that I will not kill you. If only because I don't want to waste the effort of years spent keeping you alive. Not to mention that we don't know _if _the ownership of the Elder Wand can be transferred in the Realm of Death at all."

"But what are we going to do now?"

"Simple," Severus hissed. "For the first time in your life, you'll learn to focus the considerable powers of your magic and your mind. And I suggest you do so quickly."

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **"The best laid plans of mice and men (gang aft aglay)" is a quote from the Scottish poet Robert Burns.


	216. At the Close

**At the Close**

"Put on the cloak," Severus instructed. "Since it once was a part of the Veil, it exists beyond life and death – it forms a bridge between life and death. Breaking this spell means sundering a connection between life and death. Leave the hood down, I don't like talking to thin air.

"Now use the Elder Wand to cast _'Wingardium Leviosa'_ and float the other half of the Resurrection Stone next to the first half." He scowled at Harry sideways. "Because if you can't manage a simple spell like that in the Realm of Death, we are well and truly …" He hesitated, shrugged, and added quietly: _"Fucked."_

"Right." Harry swallowed convulsively. Then he asked, "Can't I use my own wand for that? I – it's just – I don't like the Elder Wand."

He sounded as pathetic as he felt.

Somewhat to his surprise, Snape didn't snap or snarl at him, but just asked calmly, "Have you forgotten that you're not a Necromancer?"

When Harry only gulped in answer, he smirked slightly and went on, "For all that you're a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, your magic will have no effect at all in the Realm of Death if it is channelled through an ordinary wand. But the Death Stick should work for you here just as well as if you were among the living. If not _better._ That is another reason why the ownership of the Elder Wand has been coveted by Dark Wizards for centuries. You can do much more with it than merely create an army of Inferi."

Harry swallowed once more and quelled the nausea that twisted his stomach. He took a deep breath. _Okay. Wingardium Leviosa. This is easy. I managed that one in my first year. I aced it in my Charms O.W.L. – I can do that._

Right. Easy.

Swish and flick.

And the proper pronunciation.

"Win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa."

For a second nothing happened and his stomach constricted. Then his heart skipped a beat as the second half of the Resurrection Stone gently lifted from the ground and began to float towards the other half.

"Good. Now keep it there. Yes, just like that." Severus' voice was steady and reassuring. "And now concentrate on joining the two halves together again. Focus your mind. No matter what happens, don't lose control. If you manage to fuse the broken halves of the Resurrection Stone together again, the flow of magic from life into death will be stopped. The curse will be broken. Concentrate on making it whole. Imagine how it was before, you've seen it. You've held it –"

**oooOooo**

"Concentrate. Focus. Discipline your mind." Severus glanced at the young man at his side, taking in his deathly pallor. The knuckles of Harry's right hand stood out whitely. He was gripping the Death Stick so hard that the muscles of his forearm strained against the Severus' arm and the magical bonds that tied their wrists together. But – Severus noticed with some measure of relief – his hand was trembling no longer. Harry held the Elder Wand firmly now, his stance unwavering.

_Good. _There was no room for doubt now. Or for hesitation. He had to keep Harry focused on the task at hand, to keep him from doubting himself, from wavering … Merlin – he almost snorted. He had to keep Harry from thinking about the consequences of his actions, of his failure or his success.

If Harry started thinking of what would happen to Dumbledore's soul if he succeeded or of the all who would die if they failed, they were doomed.

Harry cast a nervous look at him out of the corner of his eye and gulped again, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. "I –" He choked out hoarsely and couldn't continue.

"Concentrate," Severus repeated with a calm he didn't feel. "Focus. Master your mind. Calm yourself. You are not weak. You are strong."

He remembered a tense situation of years before, when he had tried to teach Harry Occlumency with little to no success. How they had faced each other in anger, fear and pain. How his words had been almost painfully similar, and yet so different. And how Harry hadn't listened to one word he'd been saying.

"Right." Harry breathed noisily. "Concentrate. On fusing the stone together again. On making it whole. I can do that." Harry squared his shoulders and pointed his wand straight at the hovering halves of the Resurrection Stone.

Severus wanted to groan. _The power is in your mind, not in your wand, Harry, _he seethed silently. Out loud he said, keeping his voice soft and soothing: "Yes, you can do that. Calm your mind. Empty your mind of emotion. Take control of your power. Master your mind. Focus. You _can_ do that."

_I hope,_ he thought. _I – _

_I pray._

It cost him supreme effort not to show his own emotions, to keep the muscles in his left hand relaxed and from cramping with agitation. He could feel a vein pulse in his temple – but on the right side. Harry wouldn't see it.

"You are not weak," Severus repeated gently. "Just focus on the stone. And do it."

**oooOooo**

Harry gazed at the floating halves of the Resurrection Stone. _I am not weak. I can do this._

He sighed. _Actually, I am weak._ He adjusted his hold on the Elder Wand. _But maybe I'm not too weak. If Severus thinks I can do this …_

_No, _he realised_._ Another deep breath. _I_ have to think that I can do this.

_Concentrate. Focus –_

_On the two halves. On the whole stone._

The black stone with the jagged crack, as it lay in his hands within the golden shell of the Snitch. The heavy ring with its cracked gem, as he'd seen it in Snape's memories, as he'd seen it on Dumbledore's burnt and scorched hand. The shiny black pebble it must have been when Death first picked it up from the banks of the River of Death.

_Shiny and black. Smooth and whole._

Harry closed his eyes.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N:** The title of this chapter is of course a reference to "Deathly Hallows" and the key to opening the Snitch - "I open at the close". The way Severus talks Harry through the procedure is a reminiscence of Harry's first Occlumency lesson in "The Order of the Phoenix". Only without the anger and the hatred.


	217. Avra Kehdabra

**Avra Kehdabra **

"I give you: Ginny Weasley!" Gwenog Jones pulled Ginny up from her seat.

The players and the witches and wizards working for the team (a veritable army: broom technicians, fitness instructors, healers, Quaffle girls and diet cooks to name but a few) erupted into cheers. A group of fans of the male persuasion whistled appreciatively, while a young girl who'd come with her mother to watch the Harpies at "The Green" – the team's favourite pub in Wales – got a dreamy-eyed look.

Ginny forced a smile. She felt how the corners of her mouth quivered. Her grin was turning into a grimace, crumbling at the edges.

Underneath the table, she balled her hands into fists.

To her surprise and dismay, she'd been able to fly today, and fly well. She'd attempted to outfly her fears and worries, and for a moment or two she'd almost succeeded. Flying with the Harpies had been demanding, gruelling, exhilarating … just great. This was Quidditch how she'd always envisioned the game. Precise, lightning-fast, perfect moves.

_But how could she have enjoyed Quidditch today of all days?_

It was pure torture to raise her glass with a proud and dashing "Cheers!"

_Where is he now,_ Ginny wondered. _Is he still alive at all? But of course he is. He's Harry Potter. Surviving against all odds is his specialty. And me sitting at home worrying would have accomplished exactly nothing._

She forced her hands to relax and concentrated on offering Gwenog the happiest smile she could manage. "I had a great time today," she told her future team captain.

And it wasn't even a lie.

**oooOooo**

At the White Horse near Uffington, the seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness.

On a rational level Hermione knew that time was moving no slower and no quicker tonight than ever. But on an emotional level, she couldn't shake off the feeling that the slender golden hand of her watch had simply ceased moving.

She shivered and drew her legs closer against her body. Madame Dubois had transfigured a silken handkerchief into a warm woollen blanket for Hermione to sit upon. But not even that helped much against the cold that was seeping from the white stone beneath her. She'd probably walk away from this picnic with one hell of a bladder infection.

Behind her, Ron was whispering furiously at Lois, and Hermione really didn't want to contemplate what they were arguing about. Alina giggled nervously about something Madame Dubois said.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and hid her face in her arms. _I wish this was all over,_ she thought. _I just want it over._

She had to bite down on her lower lip to keep her teeth from chattering. Not just because of the cold. Nausea twisted her stomach. Her hands cramped around her wands.

But she felt nothing. Beyond the Veil, Severus was too far away for her wands to register what he was up to – Sempiternal Solution or no.

There was nothing she could do but wait and hope.

**oooOooo**

Cold darkness closed in on Harry. Heavy stillness seeped into his limbs. His consciousness tightened and shrunk, narrowed down to a tiny speck of black colour. His heartbeat slowed. The blood froze and hardened in his veins.

Feeling, breathing, the churning of his stomach stopped. Life as he knew it became meaningless.

_A stone. A small stone. Cold and still and small and black and hard._

_And whole._

**oooOooo**

In the endless grey twilight above the Asphodel Meadows a white owl was circling. Her wide wings beat the still air with powerful strokes. Her flight was bright against the empty sky.

Somewhere far below a man in black clutched a still, frozen figure in a desperate, tight embrace.

**oooOooo**

In a small, rectangular chamber deep within the Department of Mysteries a tattered black curtain was billowed by an invisible breeze. Voices whispered along its ragged seams, as it floated from Death into Life.

And back.

**oooOooo**

Somewhere a soul floated motionless in the dark. Invisible ties tethered it to the earth. A curse weighed it down.

And regret. Heavy as the curse, and thrice as bitter. For deeds that could not be undone, words that could not be unsaid. But worse was the weight of what he ought to have done, but failed to do. Of words he should have spoken, but neglected to voice.

Suddenly, without warning, it was over.

Light burnt away the darkness.

Nothing remained.

**oooOooo**

Souls have no form and no speech. Invisible and silent they drift across the Asphodel Meadows that lie beyond the Ninth Gate, beyond the Veil. Whither they go, nobody knows.

Scentless and silent the white flowers of these meadows bloom.

Severus knelt on the ground. Awkwardly he held the still, stony body of his companion in his arms. Silence enveloped them in a cold, grey shroud.

**oooOooo**

A single word broke the silence, shaped life within death.

"Harry," Severus whispered. And again: "Harry!"

The sound of his voice echoed harsh and broken across the silence of the Asphodel Meadows. A third time: "Harry …"

**oooOooo**

_"Potter, damn you all to hell and back, start breathing and open your eyes this instant!"_

**oooOooo**

"Yes, sir." Harry gasped for breath, sputtered, convulsed with a cough, sank back weakly into Severus' embrace. "What happened?"

"You tried to turn yourself into stone and you damn near succeeded, you bloody fool."

"Oh." Harry took a careful breath. His chest expanded slightly on the inhalation, straining against Severus' arms. He held his breath for a moment, long enough to feel the slow, sure beat of his heart. Then he exhaled again, growing limp and relaxed. _"Oh."_

He swallowed. Obviously he wasn't a stone now. He tried to smile with relief. Even that slight movement felt odd, as if his muscles were completely unused to the exercise.

"And the curse?" Harry had to force himself to ask this question. Although the answer seemed pretty obvious – a botched attempt at self-transfiguration could not possibly have any effect on cursed objects.

Severus scowled at him.

"Broken."

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **"Avra Kehdabra" or "Abracadabra" is Aramaic for "I create as I speak". "Avada Kedavra" is said to have been fashioned after that ancient spell, using the Latin word for corpse "cadaver".

The scenes in the Realm of Death in this chapter are a backwards depiction of Ursula K. LeGuin's poem "The Creation of Éa" (basically a more poetic version of "Abracadabra"):

Only in silence the word,  
only in dark the light,  
only in dying life:  
bright the hawk's flight  
on the empty sky.


	218. A Time to Die

**A Time to Die**

A sound like a guitar riff cut through the silence of the Asphodel Meadows. Harry turned and stared.

At last he managed a choked whisper. "Severus, do you see what I'm seeing?"

"I …" Severus trailed off.

Death strummed the opening chords of _'Stairway to Heaven'_ and smirked. "You did suggest that I get a guitar, remember?"

Harry shrank back against Severus. Styled like a musician of the genre commonly known as 'Heavy Metal' among Muggles – complete with black leather trousers, black leather jacket, black t-shirt and wild black hair – Death didn't look one whit less terrifying than at their first meeting.

When Harry tried to make out Death's face, he had to close his eyes. A horrible weakness made him sway on his feet. There might have been a hint of something that looked like white and black stage make-up depicting a skull under the hood of Death's jacket. But when Harry tried to concentrate on his features, he found himself looking into a fathomless abyss of darkness … and that darkness was _reaching out_ for him …

"So we meet again, Harry Potter and Severus Snape. And I see you _still_ fancy yourself to be stronger than Death. Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" Death said silkily. Then he slung the guitar over his back and bent down to pick something up. When he faced them again, Death flipped the repaired Resurrection Stone over in his fingers as negligently as if it was just a penny. "And now if you would," Death asked, "hand over my wand and my cloak."

"Give me the cloak and the wand, Harry," Severus ordered. "Then get behind me and stay there."

Without hesitation Harry thrust the wand into Severus' hand. Then fumbled clumsily at the clasp of the Invisibility Cloak. At last he had the garment off and shoved it under Severus' arm. Harry stumbled backwards and hid behind the Necromancer's body.

_I certainly don't fancy myself stronger than Death,_ he thought. He tried not to lean against Severus, putting his left hand over his left knee to steady himself. _The Peverells must have been fucking crazy to gamble with that guy. I just hope he'll let us go. How does he decide whom to keep and whom to take anyway? Are there rules for that?_

"Yes, of course there are what you would call _'rules'_ for that, Harry Potter." Death seemed to smile. _"To every thing there is a season,"_ Death quoted. _"And a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die." _Then he smirked. "Since you're so fond of train stations: You could compare me to an engine driver. I don't make the schedule. I just implement it. And Necromancers –" He gave Severus a bow. "Were intended to help me. Conductors on the train of life." He seemed to enjoy his metaphors and similes.

"Does that mean you will let us go?" Severus asked.

Suddenly Death stilled.

_"Ah…"_ he sighed. "I had fully intended to," he whispered. "But it seems the schedule has changed." He pointed at Severus' bandolier. "Or in other words," Death quipped, _"Houston, we have a problem."_

**oooOooo**

Suddenly shots rang out, thundering explosions in the night. Screams and muffled thumps surrounded them. Hermione jumped up, staring around wildly. But she couldn't see much – only the dark form of a motionless body a few feet away from her.

"Ron," Madame Dubois shouted. "Alina and Lois – get them away. NOW!"

Hermione spun around. Ron had his arm around Lois and was grabbing for Alina, when another shot shattered the silence. She watched in horror how Ron was thrown against the girl. Then they were gone, Dis-apparated.

On the white stone where they'd been standing just a split-second before, Ron's left arm lay bleeding and twitching, a mess of blood and torn flesh, Splinched and shot.

Before Hermione could react, Madame Dubois was in front of her. "Go," she ordered, "Quickly!"

"But I can't!" Hermione cried. "The spell!"

Wand drawn, Madame Dubois faced the darkness. "Think of a holy place, any holy place and Apparate there. If you stay here, you're dead. All of you!" she whispered urgently. Out loud the French witch shouted, "Show yourselves, you bastards! You won't get 'er! Only over my dead body!"

"Naturally," a voice replied that Hermione recognised, but couldn't place.

_"Protego!"_ Hermione shouted. But the bullet was quicker. Another shot, and Madame Dubois lay dead at her feet.

"Don't kill her," the voice ordered. "At least not yet." To Hermione: "Hand over your wands, girl, and you'll live."

"Never," Hermione shrieked and pointed her wands in the direction of the voice. _"Sectumsempra!"_ she shouted. But there was no reaction. She must have missed. _A holy place, a holy place to Apparate to,_ she thought frantically. _Where, where, where can I go? _The only place that came to mind was Chartres, but she'd never done cross-channel Apparition on her own, and –

_"Break your wands,"_ a voice whispered in her mind.

_NO!_ Hermione thought wildly and resisted the command. "You dare to cast an Unforgivable?" she screamed. "You fucking bast–"

_"Break your wands,"_ a second voice joined the first.

Hermione couldn't speak anymore. She needed all her strength to fight the Imperius.

_"Break your wands,"_ the voices insisted.

Hermione stared at her hands. They were holding her wands as if the wands were branches that had to be broken to stoke up a fire. _No,_ she thought. _Severus! Harry! _Her knuckles stood out whitely. Her arms were shaking uncontrollably. Her muscles twitched with contradictory impulses.

_"BREAK YOUR WANDS!!"_ At least five voices roared, crashing the last barriers of her mind.

Hermione watched how her hands broke her wands.

As if from far away, as if in slow motion. A sphinx feather burst coppery bright from its casing of yew. Red and golden, dragon heartstring recoiled and burnt her palms painfully. Sharp splinters of vine and yew pierced her skin.

Then everything went black.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **"A time to die" and the lines that Death quotes are from Ecclesiastes chapter 3, verse 1 and 2, King James version.

"Stairway to Heaven" refers to the song by Led Zeppelin.


	219. The Long Way Home

**The Long Way Home**

Severus couldn't breathe. An iron weight pressed down on his chest. He could feel how his heartbeat faltered as sudden agony ripped through him. His knees buckled.

"Hermione," he gasped.

Harry looked where Death pointed. "Your wand," he croaked. "Severus, the key!"

With a feeble gesture Severus clutched at the bandolier with the Necromantic bells and his two wands – or rather, his one wand and the key to the Gates between Life and Death.

_But there was no key._

Only two brittle wooden sticks with a power that meant exactly nothing in the Realm of Death.

**oooOooo**

Lois held Ron's icy hand. He was so cold, so still. His freckles stood out in dark spots like a particularly pernicious kind of measles against his pasty white face. He actually _felt _dead, even though she knew he wasn't. Blood Replenishing Potions were doing their work in his body this very second. Where Muggle medicine would have failed, the spells of the wizarding world succeeded: the fatal shock of losing an arm at the shoulder had not killed him. _Yet._ She swallowed hard. In spite of healing spells and potions, Ron's life was still in danger. Transporting Ron to St. Mungo's couldn't be risked yet. He had to stay at Hogwarts –where they'd ended up in a splinched and bloody heap at the front gates, Alina yelling for help at the top of her lungs.

So Lois sat and clung to Ron's hand. Yet at the same time, she knew that her daughter was waiting for her in the other room. Scared and shocked. Alina was out there and needed her mother. But Lois couldn't let go. Somehow she wasn't able to move. She kept hanging on to Ron's cold, lifeless hand. And for the first time in her career, Lois was unable to function professionally. She couldn't do what she _knew_ she ought to – tend to her daughter, reassure the relatives, inquire about any news …

Madame Dubois was dead.  
Six Aurors were killed.  
Hermione – disappeared.

_And Ron, oh my God, Ron!_

**oooOooo**

"Severus! Severus!" A fist hit his side. He jerked upright painfully. "Damn it, stay with me, you bastard!"

The soft chord of a guitar drifted over to him. "Not that I'd mind to keep you, Severus. But …"

_But? _How absurd. Not even Death wanted him. _But –_ _Hermione –_ Hermione! Merlin, if the key was broken – if the connection was broken – something had happened – _was_ _she –_

Darkness gazed at him from beneath the sweet white bones of a skull. "She is not dead," Death whispered. "Not yet."

"Not dead," he repeated weakly. Harry grabbed him around the back to keep him upright. _Not dead – not yet – Hermione was not dead yet … Merlin, what had happened to her?!_

"We'll only find out if we make it back", Harry said as if he'd heard every thought. _Or had he spoken aloud without even noticing?_

Severus raised his head to face Death. "I am sure you've heard it more often than I could count even if I could spend all the years of my life counting," he said hoarsely.

_He was and was _not _afraid of death. _There is an instinct in all living beings that abhors death. _Life._ A primitive instinct that forces a creature to fight without aim or reason. Severus knew that. And more than that. He'd faced Death – abstract and Personified – on more than one occasion. For himself, he thought he ought to feel not even the slightest twinge of apprehension. If his death were certain, final, he should gladly –

_But – _

_Hermione …_

What about her? What had happened to her? More than life, more than death, the simple fact that he had no idea _what_ had happened to her, was – was – this was – The weight on his chest became heavier, breathing a labour. Harry's voice faded away.

_He couldn't die without her?_

That was even more preposterous than the cliché that he couldn't _live_ without her.

Death smirked.

Severus forced a breath into his lungs and smirk onto his face as he stared at Death Personified. "Anyway, I know this question is a trifle clichéd. But what do you think of a _deal?"_

Death guffawed, a black toothless laugh that sucked life from the lips of all who could hear him. "Actually, my dear Severus, I don't hear such entertaining offers even _half_ as often as I'd like to."

"So your job does get boring after a while?" Harry asked. Obviously it had been too much to hope for that Harry would keep his damn mouth shut on this occasion.

"And being an Auror is all _you_ dreamt it would be, my dear?" Death retorted sweetly.

Severus winced. But Harry just smiled at the black figure. "No," the boy had the gall to reply. "It's not. But hey, that's life. I've become strangely attached to its disappointments and annoyances. You might say I've _learnt _to treasure them. Experience. You know, the life and death kind of experience and all that."

Death wheezed at that; a dry, huffing sound that might have been a laugh in a living person, and which probably caused consumption and well, DEATH, in the Lands of the Living this very second.

"Indeed, indeed. And that's why I like you, Harry Potter. You _always_ smile at me. You did that already when you were just a baby." Death shook his head in a bemused fashion. Then he turned to Severus. "And you – you _never_ give in. So incredibly stubborn." A grin contorted Death's fleshless lips. "And so immensely entertaining."

To emphasize his words, Death strummed a dramatic riff on his guitar. "Well," Death said and slung his guitar over his back again. "Since both of you were also very helpful to me, I think there's no need for a deal. _This time."_ He winked at Severus. "I will help you," Death announced. "There's only one small problem. Your short-cut back into life is closed even for me. You'll have to take the long way home."

******oooOooo**


	220. Professor Weasley's Decision

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Professor Weasley's Decision**

"You may go in. But only for three minutes," Madam Pomfrey warned. "And afterwards there's some Calming Draught and a nice warm bed in the hospital wing waiting for you."

Alina stared at the matron. How could she sleep now, when she didn't know what had happened to Hermione and Madame Dubois? But she nodded meekly. She knew that arguing would get her nowhere with Madam Pomfrey.

Professor Weasley smiled encouragingly. "It's all right, Alina. Go in. I'll wait here for you." The DADA Professor had stayed with her in Madam Pomfrey's office while they waited for her mother to come back and for news about Ron.

Inside the private room at the back of the hospital wing, her mother sat next to Ron's bed. Ron lay on his back, his eyes closed. His skin was white as the sheets. Possibly whiter. Her mother was pale, too. She looked so small, the way she sat there, clinging to Ron's hand. Alina gulped. That was plain _wrong._ Mothers were not supposed to look small and helpless. Her throat constricted.

Quickly she looked back at Ron. And gulped again. Somehow she couldn't look away from the spot where Ron's left arm should be. _It simply wasn't there._ He wasn't wearing a pyjama top, so she could see the thick white bandages that covered his upper body. She forced herself to look at her mother again.

Only this time she took in the brown spots and smears on her mother's white blouse. All of a sudden a sick, sour taste filled her mouth. _Blood._ That was blood. Ron's blood. Alina swallowed convulsively.

"Mummy?" Alina hated the little girl sound of her voice. She grimaced. Balling her hands into fists, she straightened up. "Mum?" This time her voice sounded firmer.

"Oh, Allie." Her mother's lips trembled. Then a guilty expression crossed her face and she let go of Ron's hand. "I'm sorry, I should have –"

Alina shook her head. "No, Mum. I'm fine. Professor Weasley stayed with me. Really. I'm okay. Madam Pomfrey is going to give me some Calming Draught. Then I'll be able to sleep."

"Oh, darling –"

"No, Mum. Really," Alina insisted. "I'm fine. You stay with Ron. He's going to be all right, isn't he?" Her eyes strayed back to Ron. Could they make him grow a new arm? She realised that she had no idea what healing spells could accomplish.

"Yes, Miss Petrel. Mr. Weasley will recover," Madam Pomfrey interrupted resolutely. "And now it's time for that Calming Draught. Ms. Petrel? You should take some as well. And both of you should eat something."

**oooOooo**

When they entered the matron's office, Professor Weasley rose to his feet.

"Oh, Bill," Lois choked out. She was shocked to feel tears running down her cheeks. Then she was enfolded in the Weasley equivalent of a bear hug.

"Lois, it's all right. He'll be okay. Don't worry. He's alive. You're alive. Alina's alive."

Lois squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together, trying to get a hold on her emotions. She wasn't allowed to fall apart while Alina was watching. At last she drew a shaky breath and stepped back from Bill. "Thank you," she murmured and awkwardly rubbed at her eyes.

He smiled again, though the trade-mark smile of the Weasley clan was rather concerned than charming tonight. "Mum and Ginny will be here in a bit. You eat your soup and I'll take Alina down to the dungeons."

Lois felt torn apart. She wanted to stay here, at Ron's side. If she'd had any doubts about her feelings for the younger man, this night's events had made her realise very painfully just how much she loved him. But as a mother her first priority must be her daughter.

"Can't she stay here, just for tonight?"

"Mum, please." Even now the teenager bristled against motherly protectiveness. "We're at Hogwarts, remember? I _always_ sleep in my dorm when I'm here."

"I –" Lois started.

But Bill shook his head. "Alina will be fine in her House. I promise."

Lois sighed. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning. But please, if you need me –"

"Yes, Mum. And I'll _really_ be all right. I promise, too."

**oooOooo**

"Come along, Miss Petrel," Professor Weasley said after he'd accepted the phial with the Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, sir." Alina sighed with relief when they left the hospital wing.

"Professor Weasley?" Just before they reached the main staircase Alina halted. "Where is Madame Dubois? And Hermione? Are they dead?" She hated how much her voice was shaking. But she _had_ to know what happened! "It sounded as if someone was shooting at us. Like gunfire in a movie. _Was_ someone shooting at us? And Professor Snape and Harry – are they back yet? Are they okay?"

Professor Weasley stopped walking, too. For a moment he seemed unsure of how to react to her questions.

_Please, please, please, tell me what happened,_ Alina chanted in her mind. _Adults never tell children what's happening, _she groused inwardly. _And if it's so bad that you can't tell me –_

"Please, Professor. They are my friends!" she pleaded. "I need to know what happened!"

After a moment's consideration, Professor Weasley shook his head. "I remember how much my younger siblings hated it when no one would talk to them. As a matter of fact, I guess that some of the foolish things that my little brother and his friends got up to were the direct result of no one bothering to explain to them what was really going on." He sighed. "Very well. Miss Petrel, we'll go to my office. I'll have an house-elf bring a bowl of soup up and you will eat all of it without complaint. Then I shall tell you what I know. And then –" He gave her a stern look. "I will take you to your House, you will go to your dorm, take your Calming Draught and go to bed. Is that clear?"

******oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	221. Small Mercies

**Small Mercies**

"The long way?" Harry asked, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"That we have to go through the River," Severus replied. He tried to will strength into his weak, shaking knees. If he was already exhausted now, he'd never make it through all nine Gates with Harry in tow.

Death gazed at them, a long, quiet look. Severus shivered. A deep ache in his bones told him that with his connection to Life broken, his strength was waning even quicker than last time. He inhaled, a shallow, choked gasp. "What about the Greater Dead?" he asked.

Death snorted. "Is the big bad Necromancer afraid of a few demons?"

Behind him, Severus felt Harry quaver. The young man had trouble staying on his feet.

Severus just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 'Fear' was not the problem in this case, and he figured that Death knew that even better than he did.

"Very well," Death conceded graciously. "I shall see to it that none of the Lesser Dead will torment you. Beyond the Ninth Gate I hold no power over the Greater Dead. And you really should count yourself lucky that the one that gave you so much trouble while he was alive has not quite achieved that level of power yet."

"Voldemort," Harry gasped behind him. And it took all of Severus' strength not to fall down on his knees at hearing this name spoken here. Ice seemed to burn through the skin of his left fore-arm, right into his bone. Severus hissed with pain.

"Damn," Harry cursed soundly. Heart-felt anger brightened his voice and seemed to give him new strength. "I knew we should have done something about the baby. Why is it that every time Dumbledore is wrong, something like a cosmic calamity occurs?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably not a good sign that _he_ didn't have the energy to curse anymore.

"When I was dead, during the final battle … I – I kind of went to vision of King's Cross Station and Dumbledore was there, and a baby … it looked as if it had been skinned alive. I kind of felt bad about it, leaving it there, all alone. But Dumbledore insisted that there was nothing to be done."

Severus raised a shaking hand to his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with icy fingers. "If he's one step away from becoming one of the Greater Dead, then there's definitely nothing left that we can do about … him … now."

But if Voldemort – or whatever was left of him – was trying to rise up to the ranks of the Greater Dead … Then come what may, he had to get back and warn the living. Nausea twisted his stomach. If they'd thought Voldemort bad alive, this would be nothing compared to the horror of Voldemort as one of the Greater Dead.

"Fuck him," Harry ground out, his demeanour obstinate. "So how do we get into that River?"

Death smiled. Severus' eyes prickled with frost. Tears he hadn't even realised he was crying froze and cracked when he blinked.

"I shall take you there," Death promised.

Severus was not surprised when everything went black.

**oooOooo**

The soup was hot and hearty – potatoes, vegetables and stuff. Her granny would have said, "There's everything in it but your kitchen sink."

Alina could smell the aroma of the herbs. But she couldn't taste anything. Her thoughts, her feelings were too far away for her to notice if she were eating papier-mâché. But she kept her end of the bargain. She ate a whole bowl of soup, and even though she didn't taste a thing, she felt the better for it. At last she shoved the bowl away from her and looked up at Professor Weasley expectantly.

"So what do you know?" she asked. Alina knew that she didn't sound particularly polite, but she was all out of nice for the night.

Luckily Professor Weasley didn't seem to mind. Instead he scratched his thick red hair much like Ron did when he was unsure of what to say.

"You know that I accompanied Professor Snape and Harry to the Ministry, right?"

Alina nodded. The warm soup suddenly felt like lead in her belly.

"Well, they disappeared through the Veil. We set up a guard, with healers, for when they'd return. Then we went to the headquarters of the Aurors. At the request of the Minister I had installed a special monitoring spell there, so we could see if and how any magic affected the leeching curse on those tattoos." He halted and frowned. Then her teacher cast a quick glance at her. And for a second Alina had the strange feeling as if she were put to a test, and she didn't even know what kind of test it was. But when Professor Weasley nodded ever so slightly, she figured that she'd passed.

"If something went wrong," he explained, "we wanted to be able to move as quickly as possible – to get people to St. Mungo's."

"Oh." Alina's heart fluttered. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? They'd have planned for the worst case scenario. She swallowed dryly. And she wasn't entirely sure that the worst case hadn't actually happened.

"The spell registered the moment when the connection between the wands of Hermione and Professor Snape were established." Professor Weasley paused, a strange expression on his face. Then he visibly shook himself. "About oh, a three-quarters of an hour, barely an hour later, we detected that the leeching spell was broken –"

Alina gasped.

A brief smile flickered across the Professor's face. He rubbed his hands over his face. "And then …"

"All hell broke loose," Alina supplied calmly, though she felt anything but calm.

"Yes," Professor Weasley agreed. "The connection was broken, the body guard dead, and then we got the alert from Hogwarts that you had appeared at the front gates."

"And Hermione?" asked Alina. "And Professor Snape?"

But Professor Weasley only shook his head.

******oooOooo**


	222. The X of the Equation

**The X of the Equation**

"Have you any idea what happened to them?" Alina insisted. "Hermione? Professor Snape? Harry?"

Professor Weasley shook his head again. "When reinforcements arrived at the White Horse, only –" He swallowed hard, but Alina glared at him. Her Professor inclined his head – he hadn't forgotten his promise. He went on: "Only the dead body of Madame Dubois, the dead Aurors and Ron's arm were there."

"You _did_ put the arm away somewhere safe, right?" Alina asked almost automatically. "You can do all kinds of nifty things with your own bone and blood–" She stopped, realising that it was maybe less than polite to speak so matter-of-factly of the limb the boyfriend of her mother and the brother of her professor had just lost.

Professor Weasley just shook his head. "Yes, we did. Don't worry. There – there's an emergency plan for situations like that at the ministry."

Alina nodded. She'd expected no less. After all, the Ministry were not complete morons. Draco worked there, and Ms. Tonks-Black. Or was that Mrs? She was never quite sure. And Harry, of course.

"What about Harry?" she asked again. "And Professor Snape?" She couldn't help feeling that Professor Weasley was trying not to answer that particular question.

The way her Professor grimaced proved her right. She took a shivery breath. She felt so cold inside. So scared. A memory whispered in her mind.

_"… No matter what happens, you must not forget your weaknesses or your strengths … You're born a Necromancer, Alina. You will always be a power to be reckoned with. But it will be up to you to decide on which side of the equals sign your power will be added …"_

"They –" Professor Weasley swallowed visibly. "They have not returned yet. We don't know what happened to Hermione. The Aurors have only discovered the broken remains of her wands. She has disappeared without a trace."

Alina clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She barely noticed her teacher's grimace. Only when he offered her the little guilty smile she knew from his brother (the exact same expression Ron used on her mother when he didn't want her to know that he'd done something magic with Alina he wasn't _strictly_ allowed to do), Alina realised that Professor Weasley had already told her more than he'd intended to. She did her best to school her expression to impassivity and took yet another deep breath. There didn't seem to be enough air around for all the deep breathing she wanted to do. "Thank you, Professor, for telling me." She shuddered and added, "I just hope …" Her voice quavered. "I just hope …"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. She hoped that everyone was okay, but she already knew that Ron was _not _okay, and wherever Hermione was, Alina rather doubted that _she_ was okay. And Harry and Professor Snape? Imprisoned in Death with no way out? _'Okay'_ was certainly not the term to describe their situation.

"Well," Professor Weasley said. "That is all I know right now." He studied her intently. "Are you going to be able to sleep? Or do you need that Calming Draught?"

Alina almost wanted to laugh. She was supposed to be able to sleep, knowing that her favourite Professor and Harry Potter were lost in the Realm of Death and that Hermione had disappeared? But she'd rather eat a broomstick whole before she'd admit to that and take the Calming Draught. She'd need her wits tonight yet, of that she was sure.

Madame Dubois had feared that something like that would happen. That was why she'd removed Alina's tattoo even before the curse was broken. Alina balled her hands inside her robes. If she was not very much mistaken, tonight she'd have the chance to throw her powers into the equation and to find out just how much they mattered.

Out loud she said – and she was quite proud of the mixture of shakiness and calmness she managed to imbue her voice with: "No, thank you, Professor. I – I doubt I'll sleep well. But I'm really exhausted, so I guess I'll sleep no matter what. And if –" She hesitated. "If my mother needs to wake me – I'd rather not take a potion, just in case."

It was not just an excuse, Alina knew that. Just as she knew that her professor had lost already a brother not too long ago. She felt so odd: cold and hard at the same time. And not as scared as she supposed she _should_ feel. In fact, when she thought of Madame Dubois's words, a strange kind of excitement coursed through her.

_I've got power,_ Alina thought with determination. _And I'll add it _somewhere _tonight and if it's the last thing I do._

**oooOooo**

Hermione screamed in the darkness of her mind. _No, no, no – Harry – Severus – noooooooo! _She screamed and screamed and screamed until, even in the silent confines of her mind, her voice gave out. But even when she couldn't scream anymore, the physical knowledge of what she had done stayed with her.

She had broken her wands.

She had severed the Sempiternal Connection.

She had killed her husband and her best friend.

Suddenly she could open her eyes – and she did. Her eyes felt dry and hot, as if she was running a fever. Her stomach lurched with what she first thought was vertigo. Then she realised that she lay in a small cubicle and that at least a part of her queasiness was due to the fact that they were moving. She was on a train or a ship. A man that looked vaguely familiar sat at her side. He was dressed in black robes. But there was something wrong with those robes. They were not wizard's robes, she noticed. Her heart sped up, but before she could move or attempt to say anything, she felt the sharp pain of a needle in her left arm, and darkness descended once more.

******oooOooo**


	223. The End of Happiness

**The End of Happiness**

When the entrance to Slytherin House closed behind Alina, Bill Weasley allowed himself to slump against the cool stones of the dungeon walls.

For a moment he wondered if he'd been right to tell the girl so much. But already she felt like a member of his family. Weasleys always took care of Weasleys; born and honorary Weasleys alike. Also, he remembered too well the dangerous situations misinformation and misunderstandings had created for Harry and his friends when they were Alina's age. He'd really prefer to avoid a repetition of those scenarios. And Alina, Slytherin that she was, displayed the maturity of a much older girl.

He sighed and squared his shoulder. Another trek to the hospital wing, then back to the Ministry to control his spell-work.

He hadn't mentioned the most difficult part of his spell to Alina. What he'd set up with the help of a goblin Charms expert went far beyond a monitoring spell. They had created an elaborate magical illusion to snap into place the second the real leeching curse was broken. An illusion that would look even to a seasoned Charms master as if the original curse was still in place, unbroken and untouched.

The Minister of Magic was determined to find the Necromancers who had originally planted the curse. The illusion was meant to buy the Ministry and the Aurors time to find them. Though after the incident at the White Horse Bill didn't see how the strange Necromancers could possibly be made to believe that the authorities of the wizarding world were not doing everything in their power to find the perpetrators …

**oooOooo**

"Gilly! Geilissssssssss!" Alina hissed, while shaking her friend as surreptitiously as she could. She didn't want to wake Mika and Dorothy.

"Hmm?" Her friend slowly blinked open her eyes.

"Come with me," Alina whispered urgently. There was no way she could tell her friend everything that had happened in the dormitory without waking the other girls. And she didn't want to tell her story twice. "Call to arms," she added. " Ebe is getting the others. We're meeting in the potions classroom."

"What?!"

"No one's going to look for us there." Alina grinned. "They always look in the Room of Requirement first nowadays. A classroom will be the last place they look for students out of bounds at night."

A few minutes later the girls padded noiselessly down the hallway to their classroom.

**oooOooo**

"How is Ron?" the Headmistress asked. She looked thin and pale, almost ghostlike. Her eyes lay deep and weary in their sockets.

The Minister of Magic managed to keep up a cool, business-like appearance. Bill tried to remember the friendly, easy-going house-witch he'd met when he visited Tonks during the summer hols as a boy, and failed miserably.

"Please sit down, Professor Weasley," the Minister of Magic interrupted. "You look dead on your feet. Coffee? Tea? Or something stronger?"

Only when he was sipping very sweet and very black coffee, Andromeda nodded at him to answer Minerva's original question.

Bill cleared his throat. "Ron will live," he said quickly. "We're really lucky that they Apparated to Hogwarts and that Madam Pomfrey has so much experience with treating all kinds of wounds from the war. Had they Apparated to Lois' flat, Ron would be dead now." He sighed. "But the arm can't be attached again. The bullet caused too much damage to the upper arm, crashing the bone to splinters and tearing apart the muscles. In fact, Splinching himself above that injury may have been the best thing Ron could do." Bill offered Minerva a wry grin. "Splinching wounds are way cleaner than wounds caused by Muggle bullets, I'm told."

The Headmistress shuddered. The Minister's mouth narrowed to thin, pinched line.

Bill put his mug down and straightened in his seat. "Any news about Severus and Harry?"

Involuntarily he balled his hands into fists. Had there been any good news, he would have been told the moment he stepped out of the Floo. He could only hope that there were no bad news.

Draco floated through the door, a faint silvery shadow of an elegant young man. The ghost shook his head. "No news," he said. "Not about Severus and Harry. Not about Hermione. We have no idea where she is."

He turned to his aunt. "Because she broke the wands herself, she's gone from the Registry. Her death won't be recorded. Severus and Harry are of course still marked as deceased in the register." His semi-translucent form swelled up slightly before shrinking dejectedly in the ghostly equivalent of a sigh. "Robards has asked for the assistance of a Seer from the Department of Mysteries."

_Damn._ Bill forced himself to pick up his mug and take a long, slow swallow of coffee. The hot liquid burned bitter and painful on his tongue and caused his stomach to cramp. But realising the hidden meaning of Draco's message was far more painful and twice as bitter.

If the Head of the Aurors had called in a _Seer_ that meant they had no idea at all what had happened or where Hermione could be.

**oooOooo**

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she lay on a narrow bed in a small room that was only dimly lit by a candle on a small table. The man from before sat next to her bed.

Her head pounded and her limbs were heavy – weak with the administered drugs and a bone-deep feeling of despair. She knew that she should put up a fight. But she just couldn't summon the strength.

With an effort she turned her head. Her gaze met the man's grey stare. She could feel her mind clearing, and with her thoughts, her memories returned. Hermione swallowed painfully and licked her cracked lips. "Please," she managed.

After a long moment of silence, the man looked at her sadly and nodded.

A minute later she felt once more the prick of a needle. She sighed with relief as the darkness took all knowledge away.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to a quote by George Bernard Shaw - "It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace."


	224. Passing from One Bad Dream to Another

**Passing from One Bad Dream to Another**

"I'm a Necromancer," Alina said. "So I can enter Death. Of course, without a sword or bells I have no chance in the River. But I've managed to enter the Realm of Death anyways, when I was asleep. I even managed to take Hermione with me."

She took a deep breath. "So I figure I _should _be able to get in. And –"

"Then what?" Crudass asked belligerently. "You said you don't have that Necromancer stuff. What are you trying to do? Kill yourself on top of Professor Snape and Hermione?"

"Professor Snape is a powerful wizard," Alyah piped up. "And he has those bells _and _Godric Gryffindor's sword. Are you sure that he won't be able to make it out again on his own? I mean, he's done that before." She smiled apologetically at Alina. "I'm sorry, I'm worried, too, really! It's just, I'm wondering what a Second Year, Necromancer or not, can possibly accomplish in Death."

Alina raked her hands through her hair and moaned. "Didn't you listen?" she wailed. "They are not in the River! They went _beyond the Veil!_ Without Hermione's wands they can't get out on their own!"

"We can't just let them die!" argued Jo Flamel.

"Are we knights or what?" cried Terrwyn, outraged.

"Everybody CALM down," Ebe ordered. "Alina, do you have a plan?"

"Thanks," Alina mumbled. Turning to Barret, she said, "I know how dangerous all of that is, Barret. Really, I do. Better than you. But I really _do_ have a plan."

Cato grinned and rubbed his forefinger along his nose. "Slytherins don't even go to the loo without a plan," he commented approvingly.

Crudass groaned in defeat.

"Professor Snape's phoenix," Alina said simply. "Phoenixes can enter the Realm of Death. They continuously pass beyond the Veil and back. It's what phoenixes are all about. Life and death. And," she added triumphantly, "they are known for their ability to carry really heavy loads."

For a moment it was very quiet in the dungeon. The only noise was the regular dripping of a faucet at the back of the room.

Then the Little Knights exhaled in a shared sigh.

Crudass shook his head. "And here I thought that breakneck plans were trademarked by my House."

"It's a good plan," Cato said. "But you'll need to get out of Hogwarts, to Spinner's End and _into_ Spinner's End without anyone noticing. And that's going to be tricky."

He screwed up his face in a thoughtful grimace. The others remained respectfully silent. Cato was the mastermind that devised the wicked details for their plans. They knew better than to disturb him now.

**oooOooo**

The soft sound of water and the sensation of warm wavelets lapping at his calves elicited a strong urge to pee in Harry. And that in turn made him open his eyes. Severus was holding him in his arms, just barely keeping him upright – for he was swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused.

Unceremoniously Harry wrenched the sword of Godric Gryffindor out of its sheath and stuck it into the ground before him. Gratefully he leant on his makeshift crutch and rubbed at his bleary eyes. An endless surface of sparkling water stretched around them. He couldn't make out the horizon at all. Far, far away was a thin stretch of light where the glimmering water met the glittering sky.

The sky was studded with scintillating, sparkling stars. It was positively encrusted with them. Harry could barely make out any black around them. It was impossible to get your bearings. _So much for the uses of Astronomy, _he thought with disgust. But somehow the stars had a positive effect on him. Gradually he felt stronger, awake, almost normal.

But Severus was slumping over him now, as if he was falling asleep for good. Rudely he poked his right elbow into his friend's side. "Oi! Severus!"

The Necromancer jerked back and awake, forcing Harry to straighten up. Only then Harry noticed the dark figure that stood a few feet away from them.

Death was waiting to say goodbye. At his feet the warm water had frozen for several feet in diameter. Mist curled up around the edges of the ice.

"Thank you," Harry told Death respectfully. Already the water around his feet was getting colder. Harry shivered. But there was one thing that he wanted, no, that he _needed_ to know … "May I ask a question?"

The sharp inhalation next to him told him in no uncertain terms what Severus thought of his inquisitiveness. But Death appeared amused. Inaudible chuckles made the ice at his feet crack and break. "You may. But be warned – I might answer."

"Great." Harry gulped. This was probably not one of his more brilliant ideas. But he needed to know Death's intentions – if there was a catch to the help they had received. "Right. _Err…_ I was just wondering … Why are you so generous?"

Beside him, Severus winced. But Death hissed with silent laughter. The ice spread further, closing in on them. Harry's toes were getting numb. "I am not generous, Harry Potter. Trust me, when Death is generous, it looks very, very differently."

The figure raised his head. Harry's eyes were inevitably drawn to the darkness of within the hood, where Death gazed at him.

Nightly shadows reached for him. But there was some light, the eerie glow of dim fires. When he squinted his eyes, the scene slid into focus. Dead bodies lay in heaps. Red flames flared from torn clothes and tangled hair, licked at motionless limbs. A horse-drawn cart was approaching, with more corpses piled up on the bed.

Then Death lowered his head again, and for a second, Harry felt as if his face was caressed by the softest of fabrics.

_"That_ is Death's generosity. A bad dream of pestilence and plague that does not pass away, but comes to life and instead claims the dreams of men, both the bad and the good, until it is men who pass away."

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to a quote by Albert Camus from "The Plague" - "We tell ourselves that pestilence is a mere bogy of the mind, a bad dream that will pass away. But it doesn't always pass away and, from one bad dream to another, it is men who pass away."

The descriptions of the Realm of Death are written according to the book "Abhorsen" by Garth Nix, chapters 21, 23 and 25. Many thanks to Ayerf for finding the right chapters for me.


	225. Oh, the River is Wide …

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Oh, the River is Wide …**

Severus shivered violently as the water froze around his feet. Ice sliced through his robes, through his trousers and into his skin. Although the cuts were mere scrapes, superficial, the waters of the Ninth Precinct drained life-force from those cuts as if they were deep wounds.

_Oh, Harry,_ he thought. He did not have enough energy left to berate the younger man. He sighed wearily, his breath forming a small cloud of mist in front of his face.

Then – without averting his gaze from the face of Death – he sank to his knees, crashing the thin crust of ice that encircled him. The ground was softer, the water colder than expected. He gasped. Temporarily the temperature of the water revived him. With almost supernatural clarity he took in the frost that travelled along the seams of Death's cloak, the shuddering tremors that passed through the young man bound to his left arm, and above them, brilliant and ever-peaceful, the stars of the Ninth Gate.

"My Lord," Severus whispered once again. For a second he held Death's gaze. Then he bowed his head deeply. He could feel how his long hair parted, how it exposed the vulnerable skin of his neck. "Forgive us."

"No," Death sighed, an icy breeze over the waters. "No. Never call me Lord. In Life you have already had too many lords. In Death you shall have no lord. I have always been your brother – your devoted friend. Unseen and mostly unnoticed I've been at your side for every moment of your life, know you better than you know yourself –" Death bent over him, and Severus felt embraced by a darkness that was no longer cold, but instead soft and warm like velvet, soohing and familiar. "– and shall remain thus. Until we meet one last time."

A voice rose from the darkness and a song drifted gently over waters suddenly warm and gentle again, as unseen hands plucked the unseen strings of a guitar.

_Oh, the river is wide … the river is deep … and you won't cry out anymore …_

Severus couldn't help himself – he smiled. Death had indeed been his constant companion for many years. But never before he'd been able to take consolation in this circumstance.

"And remember," the darkness whispered to him. "She is not dead yet."

**oooOooo**

Harry watched in horror as Death bent over the man kneeling at his side. Darkness coalesced around Severus Snape, shifting and murmuring, shapes and forms and voices that reminded Harry of the Veil in the Ministry's Death Chamber.

Suddenly the darkness gained substance and contours. Harry jumped back with a gasp, jerking painfully at the magical ties that bound him to Severus. He felt as if he were looking at Severus' _shadow._ Only the shadow at the Necromancer's side was blacker than any shadow of the living world and outlined as sharply as a paper silhouette. Also, different from Severus, he did not carry a bandolier of bells, but a guitar.

As Death began to play, he seemed to glide away from Harry and Severus. Or maybe they were moving away from that dark figure. The stark constrast of the shadowy silhouette set against the glittering background of water and stars blurred, the melody of his guitar faded.

Just before Death finally disappeared, he addressed Harry once more. "I do hope that you will still smile at me when we meet again, Harry Potter – the way you have always done."

"I'll try, sir," Harry wanted to say. But before he could utter the first syllable, the last remnant of shadow had melted away and Harry was alone with Severus and the stars.

**oooOooo**

"That's it!" Cato announced at last. With a satisfied smile he removed his forefinger from the side of his nose. Raising his mnemonic digit in front of him, the lanky Ravenclaw announced, "Alina, you'll need to take a leaf out of Harry Potter's book and–"

"What do _you_ know about Harry Potter?" Crudass demanded.

Alina didn't react to his petulant manner. She knew that Barret was only worried about her. Instead she did something she'd longed to do for ages, but never dared to, not in the Potions classroom: she tilted back her chair and put her feet on the table.

"Shhhh," hissed Geilis at Crudass. But her fingers were busily bunching up her robes into knots; she was just as nervous as Barret.

"He used the Knight Bus," Cato explained. The mastermind of the Knights remained unperturbed by the objections, regarding them merely as a professional challenge. Instead he lounged on Professor Snape's empty desk , kicking his heels in a leisurely fashion. "And it's not exactly difficult to know about it. It's in _'Hogwarts, A Revised History'. _Harry Potter took the Knight Bus from his aunt's place to the Leaky Cauldron once." Taking in Alina's confused expression, he added, "The Knight Bus is a bus that will pick up stranded witches and wizards no matter where they are. And it can take you to any destination in Britain. Even from the top of the Astronomy Tower to Spinner's End."

_"Ohhh…"_ sighed Alina. What a relief. She hadn't exactly fancied breaking into Professor Snape's quarters to access his Floo connection.

"And at Spinner's End?" grumbled Crudass. "Are you going to break down the wards on Professor Snape's private property? Or do you happen to have the key handy?"

Alina let her chair crash forwards into its proper position and turned to face Barret. "Nope, I don't. _But_ I'm friends with his house-elf. _And_ I'm the one who named his phoenix. If Woodstock hears me, I guess she'll come out to meet me no matter what wards Professor Snape put on his house."

Ebenezer Sibly-Style – the unofficial leader of the Noble and Venerable Knights of Dumbledore's Army – had been silent so far, sitting motionless on Professor Snape's chair, his best sneer fixed on his face.

"It's a good plan," he decreed. "That's how we'll do it."

And that was that.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N (2): **The title of this chapter refers to the song "Boat on the River" by Styx.

The paragraph in which Death tells Severus that he's his devoted friend is a textual allusion to Philip Pullman's "The Amber Spyglass", chapter 19, "Lyra and her Death".


	226. … And the River is Deep …

**… And the River is Deep ****…**

Alina leant against crenellated battlements of the Astronomy Tower. Next to her, she could barely make out Cato's intrepid grin in the shadows. While the other Knights were busy distracting Filch's awful army of homicidal psycho Hogwarts cats, Cato had been granted the honour of accompanying her to the top of the Astronomy Tower. A reward, of a sorts; after all, the Knight Bus had been his idea.

"That's way too many stairs," Alina gasped. Somewhere in the castle below her a feral yowl announced that one of the kitten traps had caught a nightly prowler out to get mischievous students.

Cato sniggered. "Grow longer legs, shorty." Then he stepped to the parapet and frowned eastwards. Already the black night of the Highlands was changing to indigo hues. "You'd better get going, Alina," he said, suddenly very serious. "Remember, it's eleven sickles to any destination in Britain. Don't talk to anyone about anything. Come back via Floo. Winky should let you in to return; once a Hogwarts elf, always a Hogwarts elf, as the saying goes."

Alina nodded. "I'll be careful."

Cato shook his head and gave her a wry grin. "With what you are planning to do, that's kind of a pointless promise, isn't it?"

He stared at her and for the first time she noticed his Adam's apple. It bobbed.

"I know," Alina admitted in a small voice. "I might die. But so might Harry and Professor Snape."

Cato swallowed hard, Adam's apple jumping convulsively. "Dumbledore's Army, Alina. We're knights. That's what knights do." He shook himself. "Now out with that wand. Stick it out, the way you'd flag down a Muggle cab or car."

Alina stepped to the ramparts and did just that. For a long moment nothing happened, and she was about to turn back to Cato, when suddenly a huge dark cloud split apart upon them and gigantic triple-decker bus came to a screeching halt, barely balancing with two wheels on top of the parapet. Golden letters on a painfully purple background proclaimed it to be the Knight Bus.

With a hiss and whistle, the doors squeaked open and a short man with straggly hair and a pipe lodged in the corner of his mouth leant out. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard jus' stick out your wand 'and, step on board, an' we take you anywhere you want to go, as long as you can pay. Name's Mundungus Fletcher, an' I'll be your conductor tonight."

For a second Alina just stared at him. Then she gasped, as Cato elbowed her in the side. She inhaled the smoke of the conductor's pipe which tasted like a mixture of wet dog and damp socks and promptly started coughing. But she brought up her left hand and held her elven sickles out to the wizard. "To Spinner's End, please," she wheezed.

"That's all right then," Fletcher said. "An' for 15 you get a mug of 'ot chocolate, an' for 17 it's full English breakfast an' because you're so young an' pretty," he leered, "I'll add a kiss fer you free of charge."

"Just to Spinner's End, please," Alina insisted and quickly she climbed on board.

The conductor turned rheumy dog-eyes to her. "Third bed to the left, darlin', if you please. An' if you change your mind, jus' lemme know."

Alina nodded and started for the bed he pointed out to her, only to be thrown right on top of it, as the bus seemed to drive straight down the Astronomy Tower.

**oooOooo**

In the blackness of the Eighth Gate nothing was left of him.

Severus could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. He had no body, no shape – no heart that was breaking with anguish. Harry was gone, too, although he knew that the magical ties that connected them would withstand even the nothingness of the Eighth Gate.

If he managed to open it.

If he opened it …

_"And remember, she is not dead yet," _a whisper – or the memory of a whisper – floated to him through the void.

Without a voice he screamed the spell that would break the gate. They crashed through the gate and landed in the river with a splash. Red fires danced on the water around them.

They had reached the Eighth Precinct.

**oooOooo**

"Bloody hell," Harry gasped and ripped off the burning robes from Severus' shaking body. Behind them, the fire gate between the Seventh and the Eighth Precinct flared up in a wall of red flames again. "Severus, are you still with me?"

The Necromancer had shoved Harry out of the way of one of those deadly, dancing patches of fire in the Eighth Precinct. He'd literally taken the fire for him. Harry braced himself and groped for Severus' neck, trying to find a pulse. But Severus groaned and irritably batted his hand away.

"Bloody hell, man," Harry repeated, his voice hoarse with relief. "You've really got to stop with this 'saving Harry'-thing you've got going."

Though at the rate they were going, he wasn't sure if any heroics at all would get them out of this place. They were more dead than alive and they had only just reached the Seventh Precinct.

**oooOooo**

After an endless trek through shallow, icy waters, Severus halted abruptly. He cocked his head, listening intently, then he stared fixedly off into the darkness that lay ahead.

"This is it," the Necromancer said finally. "The Sixth Gate awaits us."

Harry just nodded and tried not to lean on the other man. They were both exhausted.

"Out with that sword," Severus commanded and plucked a large silver bell from his bandolier. "I hope you're a good fighter with your left. The Sixth Precinct is usually swarming with all kinds of Dead. I'll try to bind them with Saraneth and turn them away with Kibeth, but we _will_ need that sword."

Suddenly Harry remembered something and gulped. "And – and – You-Know-Who?"

"May very well be waiting for us just beyond that Gate."

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of this chapter refers to the song "Boat on the River" by Styx.

The homicidal psycho Hogwarts cats are naturally a homage to "Calvin & Hobbes" and Bill Watterson.

The descriptions of the Realm of Death are written according to the book "Abhorsen" by Garth Nix, chapters 21, 23 and 25. Many thanks to Ayerf for finding the right chapters for me.

The scene with the Knight Bus is based on PoA. Many thanks to britpicker Linda Hoyland for help with the Mundungus' side of the dialogue.

You-Know-Who: Death told them that Voldemort had not gone on, but instead turned into a vengeful demon of death. Death said that he's only one of the Lesser Dead so far and he promised to send those away, in order to help our heroes. But Severus, being Severus, rather expects the worse - and does not even trust Death.


	227. The Sixth Precinct

**The Sixth Precinct**

They burst into the Sixth Precinct as if carried on the spray of a mighty fountain, wet, stumbling and breathless, Harry with the sword awkwardly in his left, Severus with the bell in his right, but still holding it silent with his middle and ring fingers curled around the rim.

Harry stumbled the first few steps into the shallow waters of this precinct, skidding and sliding. Panic flooded him as he scanned the waters. His heart pounded. His throat went constricted. Any second now he expected a malevolent, flayed demon of a baby to rise from the floods at his feet. But nothing happened.

The Sixth Precinct lay deserted.

The skin between Harry's shoulder blades prickled with the piercing gaze of many unfriendly, unseen eyes watching them from the shadows. But when he surveyed the river, its dark waters burbled gently in a soft grey twilight.

Severus didn't give him the time to catch his breath or get his racing heartbeat back under control. The Necromancer dragged him forwards as fast as he could, slipping, sliding, nearly falling along. The currents were easy in this precinct, the greatest challenge the slippery ground below knee-high, icy floods.

Finally, Harry stumbled and clutched at Severus. "Just a second," he gasped. "There's no one here. I'm done in, I can't _fucking_ keep up!"

The muscles of his legs were cramping, his legs shaking, he was so exhausted that he felt tears of helpless fury well up in his eyes.

"We need to get out of here, Harry," Severus said tersely. "Just because you can't see any Dead right now, doesn't mean there aren't any around."

"I'm not stupid," Harry retorted and tried to massage his thigh without stabbing himself. "I can feel their eyes on us. But if I end up flat on my face in that water, that won't help us, either."

Standing still, he could catch his breath. But even these few moments of staying motionless in the river allowed the cold to seep into his bones. He felt frozen to the core, not just his body, but his mind, his magic. He shook his head, trying to clear the icy cobwebs from his mind.

"I –"

With a splash a black figured surged from the water. Together, Harry and Severus stumbled a step backwards.

This was no Lesser Dead, Harry thought. The black thing was as tall as Severus, and vaguely humanoid. Like a charred skeleton, or what Harry imagined might remain of a human body after a great fire. There was a head, torso, legs, arms, spidery finger. But no flesh, only black, crisped matter curled around slender bones. When the figure raised its arms, Harry caught glimpses of a smooth, greyish shade of ivory where the burnt flesh was peeling off the bone underneath. The water dripping from the figure looked oily and grimy, mixed with fat and ashes.

Then he met the creature's gaze. Liquid and red, hatred burnt bright in the destroyed visage.

Without a sound, the demon lunged for them.

Godric Gryffindor's sword went straight through it, at an awkward angle, as if Harry had been trying to prepare a gigantic shish kebab. The creature jerked, stilled.

Then its black mouth opened. A charred tongue convulsed in silent laughter against surprisingly white, pointy teeth. Flakes of ashes floated from the demon's lips.

Instead of backing of and dislodging the blade, the creature stepped closer, into the blade. Blackened bones reached for Severus' throat.

Desperately Harry tugged at the sword – but to no avail. Just as the demon had intended it was well and truly stuck between ribs and spine and a power that was not derived from mortal muscles. Next to him Severus was flailing wildly in the creature's grip. His left bound to Harry, his right holding the bell Saraneth, he had no way to fight off the demon's stranglehold.

**oooOooo**

Alina stumbled out of the Knight Bus and almost fell flat on her face when the emergency vehicle of the wizarding world rushed off nearly right over her. The roar of the engine mixed with the echo of the conductor's crude advances in her ears.

Only the post of a streetlamp kept her from landing base over apex into the gutter.

"Wow," she told the wet grid of the drain underneath the lamp. "What a ride."

Then she straightened up and looked around. The road was empty and dark in the small hours of the morning. Though it wasn't precisely in the middle of the night anymore, the sky was still very dark, with the eastern horizon barely cloaked in the lighter indigo shades of approaching dawn. On one side of the road a brick building loomed over her. A shopping centre that somehow managed to look both old-fashioned and modern at once. On the other side of the road was a row of renovated houses split by small park in the middle.

Spinner's End. Just as she remembered it from the walk she'd taken with Hermione. Okay, it had not been quite as dark then. Clenching her teeth, wand surreptitiously in hand, Alina crept closer to the last house of the row.

She felt strangely self-conscious about her wand. Then she shook herself decisively: with what she'd been up to that night, a bit of underage magic out of bound wouldn't make a whole lot of a difference anymore.

There it was. Professor Snape's home. Alina swallowed hard. She could feel the wards surrounding the house. Against Muggles, against Evil. For a moment she considered trying to break them, or sneak through them with magic.

Then she shook her head. She didn't have the time for any Gryffindor grandstanding or Slytherin scheming. She could see the house and knock on the door. That was enough.

"Winky!" she yelled and beat with a fist against the wood, while crashing the brass knocker against the door with the other. "WINKY! Open the door! Now! I need help! Professor Snape needs help! Woodstock! WOODSTOCK COME HERE!"

******oooOooo**


	228. Dark Dreams

**Dark Dreams**

Deep in dark dreams, Hermione heard voices. One of the voices she had heard before. For some reason her brain supplied the image of an angel with gilded wings.

"We were there in time," the angel said softly. "Just in time. _They_ are gone for good. The frog-hag is dead. The child got away, but it's only a matter of time until we catch her on her own. "

_Alina,_ Hermione thought. _Oh, no. Alina!_

She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. She felt strange, so warm and heavy, as if her body did not belong to her, but to someone else. As if she – her mind, her soul – were merely imprisoned in this heavy, awkward shell, weighed down and tethered where she didn't belong anymore.

"What about that American Necromancer?" another voice asked.

"Forget about her. The vampires will never allow her to set foot on European soil."

"And what about _this _one here?"

Silence.

"I have … reason to believe that she is not beyond salvation. Penitence may yet lead to redemption in her case. And of course we cannot allow her to return …"

_Alina. Alina._ The name echoed in her dreams. She should wake. She knew she should wake. Because of Alina. But already the name was fading from her mind, and try as she might, Hermione could not connect a face with it. Other words drifted to the forefront of her drugged dreams. _Salvation. Penitence. Redemption._

The fog that obscured her thoughts and memories lifted momentarily. Just enough so she could see her hands. Her hands were pale and they were shaking, her fingers seemed very thin and fragile. But they were breaking two slender, smooth rods, carefully carved out of precious wood and polished to a beautiful sheen. Over and over, she watched her hands, breaking, cracking, shattering, the symbol of her life.

Those clean Latin words echoed eerily in her mind. _Salvation. Penitence. Redemption._

Words that could hold no meaning for her ever again.

At long last darkness obscured her dream vision again.

She was grateful and did not try to wake from her slumber.

**oooOooo**

"Winky! Woodstock!" Alina's voice rose shrilly, and she could only hope that the anti-Muggle wards would also cover her voice.

Still no reaction. The door was solid and unmoving under her hands. Alina wanted to slide down and crumple on the stairs.

_No, no, no._ She must not do that. She used the ring of the doorknocker to steady herself. Once more she raised her hand. Her knuckles were already bruised and bleeding.

"Winky," she shouted. _Where was that bloody house-elf?_

Suddenly a bright shriek pierced the air. A screeching phoenix burst out of thin air in an explosion of fire-coloured feathers. Swiftly, Woodstock landed on her shoulder. Wings like gentle flames fluttered caresses against her neck. Rubbing her beak against Alina's cheek, the young phoenix trilled a few soothing notes.

In that instant the door opened, revealing a thoroughly disgruntled house-elf.

**oooOooo**

There was no sun in Death, and apart from the Ninth Precinct, no sky, just darkness and twilight. The river had no banks. There were no flowers and no scent.

And still Severus imagined he could smell the stink of burning, rotting flesh, as the hands of the demon closed around his neck.

Beside him, he could feel Harry futilely grappling with the sword. But this Dead was cleverer than that. Even though it was dead, the magic imbued in the blade had to hurt this creature terribly. That it did not care about this pain and put its purpose above it, was frightening. Only the Greater Dead were capable of such reasoning.

Still, as Severus struggled against the vice-like hands closing around his neck, even as he felt his strength ebb away, he grew aware of the fact that their attacker was not yet one of the Greater Dead.

But at the same time this demon certainly did _not_ belong among the ranks of the Lesser Dead anymore.

Claws scratched over scar tissue and panic welled up inside him, memories of pain paralysed thoughts and reactions. _Dead, dead, dead … not yet … not yet … _

The twilight of the Sixth Precinct darkened around him, when he couldn't breathe anymore. Fiery wheels popped up at the edges of his vision, spinning in garish colours. If he couldn't dislodge the demon soon, it would be over. He could barely feel his fingers as they feebly tightened around Saraneth's grip.

_Dead, dead, dead … but not yet one of the Greater Dead …_

Realisation hit him in white-hot agony and bone-chilling fear. For a second his heart cramped in his chest in an explosion of pain that raced through his left arm and down his back into his thigh.

With the strength of despair, he wrenched his arm free, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process.

Then he heard the dark and distant call of Saraneth. With all his strength he rang the deepest Necromantic bell, while his throat worked painfully to choke out a name. He did not need a spell to reveal _this name_ …

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Severus croaked. "Lord Voldemort! Get thee gone! I bind and banish thee deep into Death. Never no more thou shalt walk under the sun."

Next to him Harry kicked at the creature and finally managed to free his blade. That gave Severus enough time to get out the second bell. He ripped Kibeth from the bandolier. And for once the tricksome bell graciously obliged and instantly trilled a sweet cadence of sounds.

The charred figure withdrew as if struck. Its mouth opened in a silent scream of rage.

"Get thee gone, Lord Voldemort," Severus repeated, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.

Promptly the black spectre faded away.

But even as the demon disappeared, Severus Snape knew that his strength had not sufficed to bind and banish Voldemort beyond the Ninth Gate.

Tonight he would not bother them again. But one day, he would return.

******oooOooo**


	229. Unkissed

**Unkissed**

"But Winky can always get to Master if Master needs her. Master would has no needs of sending young Miss to Spinner's End." Winky scowled at Alina. Her wrinkled nose conveyed clearly that Alina's very fishy story offended her delicate organ.

Woodstock chirped angrily at the elf and beat her wings into Alina's face. "Hush, Woodstock!" Frantically, Alina tried to transfer the agitated phoenix to her shoulder. Three deep scratches later, Alina stared down at Winky over crossed arms.

"Look, if you're so smart," she challenged the sulking elf. "Why don't you go to your Master right _now _and ask him if he needs anything?" Inspiration struck and she sucked in her breath sharply. "As matter of fact – Winky … And this is NO joke. Your Mistress needs you badly. RIGHT NOW. Go to Hermione and bring her here."

"Mistress wants to come here?" Winky frowned.

"Yes," Alina said with all the conviction she could muster. She'd never liked house-elves much. _Creepy little spies._ But if this worked, she'd devote her entire existence to improving their living conditions. "Hermione wants to come here. Badly. Really. Master will be _very_ angry if you don't go and fetch her. Right now."

It was clear that Winky didn't quite believe her. Nevertheless, with a decidedly huffy POP! Winky vanished. Alina clapped her hands over her mouth and hardly dared to breathe.

If Winky could get to Hermione …

A CRACK shattered the room.

A fraction of a second later, Winky appeared midair in front of Alina – about four feet higher than she'd started out. For second she hovered, shocked and surprised. Then the elf tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, ending in a dishevelled heap at Alina's feet.

Alina's shoulders slumped and she squatted next to Winky.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, smoothing down the skirts of Winky's rumpled uniform. She couldn't help smiling, when she realised that the house-elf was dressed in a miniature version of a Victorian maid's dress, down to the starched apron.

"Oh, oh, oh," wailed Winky. "Can't, can't, can't. Can't fetch Mistress. Can't reach Master. Oh, oh, oh. Poor Winky. Poor Master. Poor Mistress."

Alina sighed. Well, she _would_ have been very much surprised if house-elf magic extended into the Realm of Death. But trying to get Hermione back had been worth a shot.

That plan had failed. What did that mean? Alina frowned and tried to remember what she knew about house-elf Apparition.

Hermione was kept in a location that was not accessible even by the uncanny magic of house-elves. If Winky couldn't get in, she rather guessed there was no way for Hermione to get out. Certainly not if she didn't have wands. Just great.

"But, Winky," Alina said, interrupting Winky's muttered self-recriminations. "I think that – I – can help your Master."

For a moment the living room was silent. Then Woodstock ruffled her feathers – a phoenix' equivalent of flipping her thumb off at Winky. The house-elf sniffled hopefully. "Young Miss can help Master?"

Alina nodded. "I think so. Woodstock and I can help your Master. But I need to lie down somewhere. And …" She drew a deep breath. Now for the awkward part. "Winky, you must not allow _anyone_ to disturb me, unless I'm dead. No matter who comes knocking on the door or calls on the Floo, no matter if it's the Minister of Magic, Headmistress McGonagall, the Pope or even my mother. You must NOT let them in. You must not let _anyone_ touch me until you're sure that I'm dead. All right? I'm – my … _uh _… my mind, my soul … that invisible part of me … is going where your Master is. But my body will remain here. And if you allow anyone to touch me that could kill the invisible me _and_ your Master if we're very unlucky. Do you understand? Don't let anyone in, don't let anyone touch me until my body is really, really dead."

_I'll be only 13 and really, really dead,_ Alina thought miserably. _That's too young for ending up dead. I haven't even been kissed by a boy yet! Worse, I haven't even _met _a boy yet I'd like to kiss._

She inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders, fixing Winky with her best Potions Master's glare. "Well? Are you going to help your Master?"

Winky sat up and primly straightened her skirts. She met Alina's gaze, her round eyes suddenly determined. "Yes," the house-elf chirped. "Winky is." She gulped and her ears twitched. _"I will._ Young Miss can depend on me."

**oooOooo**

"He'll be back, won't he?" Harry croaked, as they stood and stared in the direction of the Sixth Gate, where the blackened form of Voldemort had disappeared.

Severus couldn't speak. He just nodded wearily, leaning onto Harry for support.

Although the river was shallow in the Sixth Precinct, the water was icy. It numbed the skin, froze the limbs. By now he was so cold that he'd stopped shivering. Not a good sign. He tried to concentrate on Hermione, tried to recall Death's promise that she was still alive …

But his mind was empty with exhaustion.

He clenched his teeth and lurched forwards, to the next Gate. Next to him, Harry used the famed sword of Godric Gryffindor as a convenient crutch.

As they approached the sinkhole that led from the Sixth Precinct to the Fifth Gate, Severus tried to summon his last reserves of physical and magical strength. But he was more stumbling than walking, and how he'd be able to keep up the focus that would create a safe bridge over the deep waters of the Fifth Precinct was beyond him.

"We won't make it," Harry remarked suddenly, his tone light, conversational. As if he was talking about the weather.

Severus stopped walking. He swayed on his feet and to his acute embarrassment, he couldn't help leaning on Harry once more. "Wait and see, Potter," he ground out.

But deep in his heart, he feared that Harry was right.

******oooOooo**


	230. Mercy

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Mercy**

Winky offered Alina to take her upstairs to the small bedroom or the master bedroom, but Alina refused. She wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. Although invading Professor Snape's bedroom couldn't possibly make the situation any worse than it already was, she decided to stay in the living room. At least she knew that room, had been there before – and she really liked it, all those books, the battered armchairs and sagging sofa.

She curled up on one of the armchairs and inhaled deeply. Leather, smoke, as if the chair had stood too close to the fire. And a hint of potions ingredients. This must be Professor Snape's favourite chair.

Another deep breath. It didn't help. Her stomach was tied into knots. _I need to calm down,_ Alina thought. _How will I sleep if I'm so jittery? Oh, Jesus, Merlin and Dr. Who on a piece of pizza, they'll _all_ be flipping, flaming angry. If I make it, Mum will skin me alive._

A bizarre thought struck her and she couldn't bite back a hysterical giggle.

"Young Miss is all right?" A frowning Winky materialised in front of Alina.

"Yes. No." Alina shook her head helplessly. "I was just thinking that I'll get royally reamed by Professor Snape no matter if I live or die."

Winky nodded solemnly.

Suddenlythe agitation drained away from her. She felt calm. At peace. She lay on her side, the head on the armrest, her right arm in front of her body.

"Woodstock?" she called softly to the young phoenix who was sitting on her stand and waiting patiently. "What do you think of a nap?"

The phoenix ruffled her feathers, then spread her wings. In the small room Woodstock ended up hopping, rather than flying over. Cocking her head, the phoenix regarded Alina for a moment. Then she voiced a reassuring trill and carefully, deliberately climbed Alina's right arm.

The phoenix smelt of spices and herbs, of soft feathers and desert sun. _Harry,_ Alina thought. _Professor Snape. I'm coming._ Her eyes drifted shut in dreams of cinnamon and amber.

**oooOooo**

Twisted to his back, Severus' left arm had long since grown numb. The bridge across the Fifth Precinct was too narrow for two men to walk side by side – and they were both far too exhausted to risk cutting the magical ties that bound them to each other.

Another step. And another. Death didn't matter anymore. Life had become irrelevant.

All that mattered was the next step, the next step on a barely visible bridge that existed only because his magic told it to. And his magic was faltering. Had it always taken so long to cross the Fifth Precinct? Or did the bone-deep exhaustion make it seem longer than it really was? Or did Death or magic react to their weariness and increase the distance with every step they took? It was possible.

But he didn't care. He just took the next step. And the next. And the next.

And then –

they fell.

They plunged into the river, limbs flailing. Their robes wrapped around thrashing legs, the weight of the water-logged fabric dragged them down, under the surface. For a moment the icy temperature of the water and the shock of the fall cleared his mind in a desperate rush of adrenaline.

Sputtering and coughing, they reached the surface again. Harry had lost his glasses, he was blinking hard and squeezing his eyes, as he fought to stay afloat.

"What –" Harry coughed again. "– the hell happened?"

Severus felt as if his throat had been sanded down inside. Pain twisted his stomach. He gagged, fighting down a sudden bout of nausea. _I must have swallowed a lot of water going under, _he thought, almost resignedly.

"Do you still have the sword?" he asked, ignoring Harry's question.

"Yes," the younger man rasped. "And I almost wish I didn't. It's weighing me down better than a fucking anchor."

Somehow they managed to synchronise their frantic efforts to keep swimming.

"Unsheathe it," Severus choked out.

"You mean, just drop it?"

"No –" A clumsy, one-armed stroke almost made him go underwater again. "Hoping to give you mercy –"

"What?"

"This – is the water – that turns – the dead –" He gasped, gurgled, coughed, as water shot up his nose, but he forced himself to continue. "– turns them – like – Voldemort. I–can–still–send–you–safely–beyond–the–Ninth–Gate–I–think–but–not–much–longer–"

They had been treading water only for a few minutes, if that. And already the little strength he had left was waning. Worse, he could sense how his magic, the power residing in the very core of his soul, was beginning to shift, to change, to metamorphose. If they lasted much longer, they would wish to have died while they still could.

Only by then it would be too late.

**oooOooo**

It was three in the morning, and all surviving members of the Weasley clan were gathered in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Ron was still unconscious. Lois had been given a sleeping draught and lay in an adjoining guestroom.

There were no news of Harry or Severus.  
There was no trace of Hermione.

Molly sat perched on the edge of her chair, her gaze fixed on the door of Ron's room. Arthur and Bill were standing at the window, looking out into the darkness of the wee hours. Fleur and Percy were seated at the table, their cups of tea long since gone cold. Outside, Ginny could hear Charlie keeping George company, as he paced the hallway.

Ginny herself was beyond pacing. She'd even stopped asking _'what if'_-questions. At least out loud. What if she'd been there? Could she have prevented Ron being shot and Splinched? Could she have saved Hermione? By now Ginny simply huddled in her chair and stared at the fire, waiting for the Floo to turn green, for Harry to stumble out of the flames and into her arms.

But nothing happened.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **In Abhorsen the deep waters of the Fifth Precinct are described as having strong metamorphic effects. Anyone who spends time in its waters will find both spirit and body altered – and not for the better. And upon their return, they will not resemble their previous forms.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	231. Not Quite Dead Yet

**Not Quite Dead Yet**

Alina opened her eyes. Had it worked? Had she made it to the Realm of Death?

She looked around. A small room, the walls lined with books. Old, shabby furniture lovingly polished. And a bird stand in a corner. She was still in Professor Snape's living room. It was still dark, and Woodstock was still perching on her right arm.

Her shoulders slumped. She had failed.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement. Whirling around, she found herself facing _… nothing._ Then the air wavered, swirled, and a shadowy figure folded back the shimmering hood of an invisibility cloak.

She jumped up. "Harry?" she squealed.

The man shook his head. "No," he whispered.

His voice was low and gentle, but it caused an icy shiver to slide down her spine and made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. She blinked and shook her head, trying to focus. But even when she squinted her eyes, she couldn't make out a face in the dim light.

"Do not try to see my face, little Necromancer," the shadowman said softly. "It will be the last thing you see."

Woodstock raised her head, opened her beak and screamed piercingly, the feathers around her head bristling.

"Hush!" Alina shushed the agitated phoenix, although her heart was thudding so hard that she could feel it in her ears. She swallowed dryly. Once more she squared her shoulders and looked pointedly not at the shadowman, but at the bird stand to his left.

"So you're Death?"

She stared fixedly at the bird stand and hardly dared to breathe. When he chuckled softly, the room grew darker and Alina shivered.

"Indeed."

At that word, her heart seemed to stop beating. _Go on,_ Alina urged it. _We're not quite dead yet, I think. I hope._ A pressure inside her chest eased, and her heart resumed its previous frantic race.

"So it worked? I'm in Death? But where's the River?" She frowned, confused. This was not how it was supposed to work. "And where are Professor Snape and Harry?"

She bit her tongue. It was probably not particularly polite to blurt out one question after the other like that. She took a deep breath. "Sir, I really don't want to be impolite. But it's rather important that I find Professor Snape and Harry. Harry Potter that is. I don't know if you've heard of him …?"

Alina trailed off. She could have kicked herself. If he was Death Himself, of course he knew Harry Potter. _And …_ She frowned more deeply, as her gaze focused on the hem of the cloak the shadowman was wearing. Wasn't that Harry's famous invisibility cloak? She'd seen it only the once, but it looked awfully similar. Or did all invisibility cloaks look like that?

"You have come to help them," the shadowman – Death – stated. "That is commendable."

She shuddered. A very strange feeling was spreading through her. She was beginning to feel rather stiff. And tired. Kind of achy, without being able to put her finger to what was hurting exactly. Was that how _age_ felt?

"As for why you are not in the River – you are not a trained Necromancer, child. For all your fervent desire to pass beyond the Veil, your skills were only sufficient to transport you to your personal, subjective dimension of Death and not into true Death."

"Oh no," she sighed. "Sir! Please! I need to help them, Hermione has been abducted, their connection to Life, it's been broken. And – and – they – they just – they _mustn't_ die yet!"

But with the cold ache that suffused her came an odd sense of tranquillity. All of a sudden, Alina wondered how she could be so sure that their time hadn't come yet. Or that her own end was not scheduled to take place right now, right here.

**oooOooo**

"Sorry, Sev'rus," Harry coughed, "thanks for the offer, but I'm not quite ready for a mercy killing yet."

"Don't be an idiot, Potter!"

Of all things to do, Harry started laughing, naturally ended up swallowing water, and promptly caused both of them to almost drown once more. When they were steadily treading water once more, Severus wondered why he was even bothering. They had both swallowed copious amounts of the water of the Fifth Precinct. Even if a miracle were to occur, neither of them would ever be the way they had been.

"This may come as a surprise." Harry paused to spit out some water. "But even though I'm a Gryffindor, I've heard of the concept of a back-up plan."

"What?"

"Trust me, Sev–" Another fit of coughing. "I fucking _hate_ this damn river – You need to cut those bonds now. Need to get behind you. Sorry – you'll have to swim for both of us. But if this is going to work, I need to touch your heart."

"My heart? My arse!" Although he was tempted to say more, Severus reached over to their joint hands and released the ties, well aware that these tethers wouldn't aid them anymore. If it was Harry's last wish to die alone, he would respect that. What surprised him – shocked him, in fact – was the sense of loss this caused him. Had the knowledge that he wouldn't die alone been such a comfort to him?

Then strong young arms wrapped around his back and two hands pressed over his heart. He could feel Harry's cheek against the skin between his shoulder blades. A voice hissed slithering sounds and suddenly heat flowed from Harry's hands, suffused his skin, enveloped him in a bubble of magic.

All at once swimming was easy, the way Severus imagined it might be in the shallows off a southern coast with crystalline sands and palm trees.

"What the bloody hell?!" Shock disrupted the rhythm of his movements. His face went underwater. But it was no longer the cold black water of the River of Death. This water was turquoise, translucent, warm. _Pure._

******oooOooo**


	232. Blood Magic, Death Magic, Life Magic

**Blood Magic, Death Magic, Life Magic**

"What have you done?" Severus panted. But he could feel the answer. He could sense how magic writhed around Harry's hands, how it grew, how it moved, how it surrounded them, a living, loving shelter filled with warm liquid – like a womb. And although he couldn't see it, he was almost certain that something was moving on Harry's hands, on the hands that pressed against his chest. _Something alive …_ "Blood magic!" he gasped. _"What have you done?"_

"Blood of the mother, blood of the sister, blood of the wife – well, fiancée. Though the spell didn't seem care about the small print. Seemed more concerned with the _heart,_ the intent. Molly donated the mother's blood, Hermione the sister's, and Ginny _… well."_ Severus could feel a vibration against his back when Harry cleared his throat. "It's the tattoos," he explained unnecessarily. "Madame Dubois's idea. Inspired by what my Mum did. Blood magic, women's magic. It's the magic of life. Seems men's magic's more suited to killing and death. Who'da thunk?"

Severus concentrated on swimming. In a distant corner of his mind he was surprised that he still knew how to swim at all – he hadn't swum after that incident in Fifth Year … But his body remembered movements learnt in the dirty waters of a mill river long ago.

"That spell won't last forever," he wheezed after a while. "And I doubt that I have the strength left to get us to the Fourth Precinct. Apart from that, this spell cannot erase whatever changes the waters of the Fifth Precinct already effected."

"It's a chance." Harry's lips moved against his back. "Better than nothing."

Severus didn't reply, but struck out towards the distant roar of the waterfall that separated the Fourth from the Fifth Precinct of Death.

**oooOooo**

"I just don't want them to die," Alina said in a very small voice. "I only wanted to help." The cold silence that filled the room weighed her down. Her shoulders slumped. A great help she'd been, killing herself off in private and not even ending up beyond the Veil.

"I know, Little Necromancer, I know." Death's voice soothed her with a sigh. "But do you know what that means, child? To touch Death like this – untaught, unprepared – will leave a mark on you that not even the most powerful magic can remove. Are you willing to sacrifice so much?"

Alina gasped. That sounded as if he'd help her! Her heart beat faster, and some of the chilling, bone-deep fatigue lifted. She squared her shoulders and thrust out her chin. "I'm here, aren't I? Obviously, I'm willing to die for them. How much worse can your mark be?"

The fabric of the invisibility cloak rustled in shimmering ripples of silent laughter.

"Very well, little one," Death murmured. "Take my hand."

Woodstock chirped, a piercing, clear trill that Death obviously understood, as he inclined his head a little. "Yes, you should take the other hand."

The claws of the phoenix clutched Alina's wrist almost painfully. The crimson tips of Woodstock's wing feathers seemed to fly with sparks of fire, the colour dazzling in the dim twilight of the room.

Alina took a deep breath and reached for the shadowy hand extended towards her.

The moment she touched the hand, she could hear the voices.

Soft sighs and muted murmurs that seemed to come from the other room, or just beyond the window. To her surprise the hand felt just like an ordinary hand – a man's hand. Strong and a little cool.

The fingers tightened around her hand, around her wrist, in a vice-like grip. The volume of the voices increased. Sighs turned into screams. Murmurs into moans.

Alina flinched and shook her head. But the voices didn't stop. The noise grew until her skull echoed with it. A thousand, a million voices were inside her head. They sighed, murmured, groaned and moaned. They cried and sobbed and wailed, until Alina wanted to scream with agony. But she couldn't. She could not only hear their voices, she could feel their suffering. Pain constricted her throat and her lungs until she couldn't breathe, much less speak or scream herself.

Darkness flowed from the corners of the room until she was floating in a fathomless, lightless space.

A voice cut through the torture that engulfed her. It was a harsh voice and a cold voice, but strangely gentle at the same time. "They will have changed. You may not recognise them at once. What you see may not be what it seems to be. Now let go."

**oooOooo**

Severus could feel how Harry's strength was waning. The water inside the magical bubble that kept them safe from the metamorphic floods of the Fifth Precinct was growing colder. No longer turquoise, it now reminded him of the grey-blue floods of the Atlantic ocean. Each time he extended his arms and ended a stroke in streamline position, he could taste the salt of the sea stronger. He could already hear the roar of the waterfall that formed the connection to the Fourth Precinct.

He wondered if Harry would last until they reached it. Even if they made it that far, he had no idea how he could open the Fourth Gate from the water. The only thing that Harry's spell accomplished was prolong the inevitable. But he had sacrificed so much to keep Harry alive … just as that idiot boy had done so much to save _his_ sodding life by now … well, the least Severus could do was hang on just a little longer. So he kept silent – and swimming.

**oooOooo**

One second Alina was blindly falling through the darkness, the next she was dangling from the claws of the phoenix over a murky stream.

The River of Death. At last.

She wondered which Precinct of Death stretched out down below. The water was very dark and it looked very deep. Alina craned her neck and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the river.

Where were Professor Snape and Harry?

******oooOooo**


	233. Flight of the Phoenix

**Flight of the Phoenix**

Woodstock glided downwards, the phoenix' bright flight like lightning in the darkness of death, bringing them closer and closer to the surface of the river. Alina kept her eyes on the water (and her thoughts off the pain that was taking up residence in her wrists, her arm muscles and sinews).

Professor Snape and Harry were here somewhere. And she had to find them.

_'You may not recognise them at once'_ – Death's warning replayed over and over in her mind. What had happened to them? Would they have turned into ghosts? But then they'd already be dead and wouldn't need rescuing anymore, wouldn't they? And somehow she had the distinct feeling that even _Death_ thought that Harry and Professor Snape should be saved.

They'd be hurt, most likely. Wounded maybe, possibly in pain. She shuddered and firmly put such thoughts out of her mind. She had to concentrate on finding them. She could worry about their health later!

Soon the pain in Alina's own body distracted her from her dark thoughts. Her arms were hurting so much that she thought she'd rather prefer to have them cut off NOW and end up in the river than endure another second of the haphazard flight, she spotted a dark – no, two dark shadows moving sluggishly towards a waterfall.

But when they got closer, Alina bit back a scream. Shadows! Shadows with claws and fangs! Burning red eyes with black pupils in the shape of hour glasses, like giant reptiles, snake-like demons!

… or like Voldemort. Wasn't this how the Dark Lord was described in the books? Dark, his evil eyes glowing red with alien, slit pupils and reptilian nostrils – Alina opened her mouth in a silent scream, frantically urging Woodstock higher, out of danger. But the phoenix didn't react. Her heart racing, Alina was dragged closer and closer to the creatures, dangling helplessly from Woodstock's claws.

Finally her feet were nearly touching the river just behind the demons. Alina gasped for breath, terrified. What was Woodstock up to? Then she remembered Death's words again. _'You may not recognise them at once.' _Surely they couldn't have changed so much? Those shadowy creatures didn't look even remotely human anymore. But what if it _was_ them? Would the River have changed only their appearance, or also their character? Though – come to think of it … Professor Snape could hardly get more fearsome than he already was …

That thought, more than anything else, made Alina take a deep breath. She opened her mouth and wanted to shout, "Professor Snape? Harry? Is that you?"

But she couldn't hear her voice. In the strange twilight of death, all sound seemed elusive.

In the water, however, the creatures halted their progress, flailed wildly, then paddled on the spot.

A mouth opened, and although she couldn't hear the words, she was almost certain that the movements of the mouth could only mean something along the lines of _'Miss Petrel! What did I tell you about staying out of trouble?'_

And then she recognised the snitch-shaped, bright white scar on the forehead of the monster that was clinging to the back of the first creature. There was only one person in the whole wide world who had a scar like that. But how could she get them out of the river? She needed her hands to hang on to Woodstock, and she wasn't strong enough to lift two grown men anyway.

But if they could reach her feet, maybe they could simply hang on to her ankles and Woodstock could lift all three of them at once? For a fraction of a second Alina dithered. But then she remembered one of her Care of Magical Creatures lessons. A phoenix was supposed to be able to carry enormous loads! A grown phoenix should be able to lift an elephant without turning a feather! And even all three of them together didn't come close to the weight of a very tiny elephant!

"Harry?" Alina's mouth moved, but she couldn't make a sound. She shook her head, trying to dispel the stuffiness that clogged her ears, the dizziness that flowed from the corners of her eye. Clearing her throat, she mouthed, voicelessly, "Can you reach my legs? Can you reach them?"

A moment her stomach roiled and twisted, as both shadows reached for her, red eyes burning, claws lunging. _'You may not recognise them at once,' _she told herself, silencing the panic inside her that screamed _'What are you doing? These are demons! They will kill you!'_ If she could have yelled, she would have shouted: "Lower, Woodstock, lower!"

She couldn't make any sound at all, but the phoenix seemed to understand her all the same and gave a reassuring, bright trill.

Then Alina could feel strong fingers wrapping around her ankles. Fingers, no claws. And when she peered down, the shadows melted away, and she was looking at Harry Potter. A white-faced, wet, weary Harry Potter, but Harry Potter nonetheless.

And a black, red-eyed demon who was clinging to Harry as if his life depended on it, but somehow still managed to give the impression that he was thoroughly disgusted with the whole process.

Woodstock soared upwards. Bright red feathers, golden sparks, brilliant wings beat the darkness.

Alina felt as if she was torn asunder. Her wrists were firmly clasped by the claws of the phoenix, while Harry hung on to her ankles, and she could only hope that further down the red-eyed, black figure that clung to Harry's waist was none other than Professor Snape. Burning agony raced through her arms, wrapped around her ankles like bracelets made of glass-shards, slicing through to the bone. Something inside her stomach tightened and snapped. She opened her mouth, she just couldn't contain the pain. But she couldn't make a single sound. Her ears filled with the rushing sounds of frantically beating wings and the shrill, sweet sound of phoenix screams as Woodstock launched herself into the everlasting darkness above the River of Death.

**oooOooo**


	234. Life and Fire

**Life and Fire**

Winky stared miserably at the scene in the living room. The girl lay on her master's favourite armchair. She was not quite dead yet, but the house-elf thought she would be shortly. She was barely breathing and hoarfrost covered her body from her lashes to her toes. And that bad phoenix, that ungrateful skived-off Sunday roast, was nowhere to be seen.

**oooOooo**

Woodstock spread her wings wide. For the first time, she was truly flying. She did not mind the gloom around her. She _was_ fire. Just as sunlight needs the night, Woodstock realised that she needed Death. She needed His darkness to burn a brilliant spark of Life. And under her wings, the two became one. The shadows above the River of Death mingled with her fiery feathers and Woodstock shrieked with glee. No long winter night of circling and swooping above the high chimney of the Old Mill at Spinner's End had prepared her for this.

Her muscles strained with the weight of the two wizards and the young witch. Their bodies and their pain dragged her down. But she knew she could carry far heavier loads. She was a phoenix, after all!

Yes, she was a phoenix – and she soared.

The river and the dim twilight of its skies disappeared. Blackness surrounded her, an infinite abyss. Ever higher she flew, trailing sparks behind her like shooting star.

And higher. Higher still.

Suddenly something changed. Far ahead, colour infused the lightless black of this unsky. The darkest shade of indigo. The air changed, too. For the first time since the River of Death had disappeared, Woodstock could feel air under her wings, currents of air twirling away under her movements.

She flew on. Indigo turned into ink, a deep hue of Prussian blue. The wind tasted cool and fresh. Light suffused the now powdery blue. First white, then a rose-coloured sigh of morning. A first tendril of warmth swirled around the tips of her feathers.

Peach turned to gold, warmth to fire, dawn to the sun in all its glory.

Woodstock wanted to sing and she wanted to burn. She wanted to lose herself in the fire of Life. But somehow the phoenix knew that this would destroy the fragile humans she carried. Not this time. Not yet. She must not burn yet, no matter how much she wanted to. That thought lodged firmly in her mind, she plunged into the sun.

**oooOooo**

With a blinding flash of light, the phoenix burst into the room. Shrieking, Winky jumped back. Sparks were flying everywhere, and she needed all her elfish magic to keep the books and the house from catching fire. Oh, that flaming chicken of a phoenix was back! And this time she'd put it into her oven, make no mistake! Almost setting Master's house on fire and his beloved books, what did that bird think in its pea-sized brain! Winky opened her mouth to tell the phoenix just that, when the smoke lifted.

On the ground next to the armchair where the girl lay curled up, her Master lay on the ground in a puddle, his robes tattered and torn and soaking wet. He was unconscious and holding on to the wizard that Dobby had worshipped so much – Harry Potter. A Harry Potter that was just as wet and dirty as her Master. To make things worse, the frost had melted from the girl's body, leaving dark, damp spots on the leather. But even worse than the water and the dirt on the floor and the armchair and the sparks bursting from the wings of the agitated phoenix were nasty shadows of death and dark magic that clung to her Master and to Harry Potter like mould to old bread.

**oooOooo**

After the glory of flight, the living room at Spinner's End closed in on her stuffy and grey and cold. Woodstock ached for fire, for flames to consume her … But then she looked at the humans. They lay motionless, all three of them.

She glanced at her Namegiver. Alina was barely breathing. And the others? Woodstock folded her wings and hopped towards Spicyscent, the wizard that had freed her from her prison. Shadow was consuming him, growing on him and inside him, devouring bone and body, heart and soul. The phoenix shuddered, ruffling her feathers. So much pain. Such dark, dark shadows. Barely any light left, and no fire. Just grey ashes of what had once been a brilliant burning soul. She opened her beak in a silent wail. But that was not enough to express her grief. She bent her head and cried, tears rolling along her beak and dripping down on his face, to his lips. His lips twitched when her tears touched them, moved. His tongue tasted her tears. He swallowed. Once, twice, three times. Then he shivered convulsively and lay still.

Woodstock stopped crying and regarded the wizard. The darkness had lifted, and somewhere deep inside of him, life was glowing again, a burning ember of fire hidden under the ashes of death.

Satisfied, she turned to the other man. He was younger and more resilient, the darkness hadn't reached so deep. But there was something else, a spell gone nearly wrong. Deep inside, he didn't smell human anymore, but like stone, like black volcanic rock. Woodstock hummed deep inside her throat. Something told her that stone and human didn't mix well, and if nothing happened, the Stoneman would wake up only to die a few weeks later. She also sensed that Stoneman was important to Spicyscent and that both of them were important to Namegiver. She couldn't help herself – another sob rose in her throat. Instinctively and slightly embarrassed, the phoenix lowered her head. Her eyes overflowed. Soon tears glittered on the wizard's lips. A moment later he swallowed.

When Woodstock couldn't cry anymore, she lifted her head. Looking down at the young wizard, she crooned happily. The stone inside him was gone, leaving only a certain hardness where he'd been soft before.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of the chapter refers to a quote by Anaïs Nin: "I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life."


	235. Brave and Loyal Slytherins

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**Brave and Loyal Slytherins**

Namegiver stirred. Woodstock was over at her side in a fraction of a wing beat. The phoenix knew at once that something was wrong. The girl was throwing her head frantically from side to side, her mouth opened and closed in helpless, silent screams.

Tears didn't help. Crooning didn't help. Agitated, Woodstock flapped her wings, feathers ruffled, tail swishing sparks.

Suddenly the grumpy house-elf was at Woodstock's side. "Silly hen must not set fire to Master Professor Sir's library. She not can hear you, stupid bird. Make more noise."

_Chirrup?_

Woodstock stroked Namegiver's cheek with her beak. But the girl only moaned. A strange feeling welled up inside the phoenix. The way she'd felt about her shell – it had been a part of her and then it had broken. Was this human broken?

Woodstock lifted her head. She wanted to cry. Only she couldn't. So she sang instead. For the first time in her life, the young phoenix sang. She sang of the warm darkness of her egg, the horrifying darkness of the box her egg had been in. Of Spicyscent and Curlyhair, who'd saved her. Of Grumpy-Elf who wanted to roast her. And Namegiver, who'd looked at her and seen her soul. Of Stoneman.

Of Death and Life. Of Darkness and Fire.

Woodstock sang. She sang of everything she knew about Life and Death and Love. It wasn't very much. She wasn't a very old phoenix. But she gave her all. She sang away her life. Only when she felt too weak to lift her wings enough to hop back onto her bird stand, she fell silent, almost astonished at the strange weakness of death.

But when she peered at Namegiver, she noticed with amazement that the girl was sleeping peacefully.

"Great," Grumpy-Elf grumbled. "But don't fancy yourself a nanny-elf. Your lullaby is no better than mine."

Woodstock wanted to peck at Grumpy-Elf for that. As if she'd ever want to be a nanny-elf! But she never got around to it. Before her beak could even touch the elf, fire flared up inside of her, hotter than anything she'd experienced so far.

The flames consumed her, golden, red, beautiful, the spark of Life, the fire of Death. Suddenly Woodstock felt incredibly light, as if she was floating …

**oooOooo**

"Silly fowl. Annoying chicken. Damn busy-bird." Winky muttered as she swept the ashes into the dustpan. For a moment she contemplated scattering the whole mess in the garden. See how that flaming nuisance of a phoenix manages her rebirth if she's worked into the rose-beds as fertilizer. But then Winky gave a long suffering sigh and carefully built up a mound of ashes on the platform attached to the bird stand.

**oooOooo**

"Alina is not in her dormitory!" Minerva McGonagall hurried into the hospital wing. White-faced and tight-lipped, the Headmistress of Hogwarts was closing the last buttons of her robes with shaking, bony hands even as she turned to the Weasleys.

"What?!" Ginny and Molly shot up from their respective seats. Professor Weasley and Arthur Weasley turned to each other with nearly identical expressions of dismay.

"I sent a house-elf to check on her, to see if she's all right –" Minerva took a deep breath. "The elf returned and said that Alina is not at Hogwarts."

"WHAT?!" all Weasleys chorused, stunned.

"Oh no," Professor Weasley muttered. "That is all my fault. I shouldn't have answered her questions last night. She must have sneaked off, thinking she can do something …" He shook his head. "I thought she'd have more sense than that. She's a Slytherin, after all!"

Minerva sank down on a chair. "Oh Bill. Slytherins are just as loyal as Hufflepuffs. And just as full of bravado as any Gryffindor who ever put on the Sorting Hat."

"But apparently not as smart as Ravenclaws," Ginny commented sourly, though her stomach felt queasy and she was wondering how they'd break the news to Lois, who was still asleep thanks to Madam Pomfrey's sleeping draught. "What are we going to do now? How can we ever explain _that _to Lois?"

At a loss for words, they stared at each other, when suddenly the Floo turned green and Healer Mugwort's face looked up at them. "You had better come over to St. Mungo's at once. Professor Snape, Harry Potter and Alina Petrel are here – in the Isolation Ward."

**oooOooo**

Minerva McGonagall steeled herself before she opened the door to Severus' room. She was determined not to show any shock, no matter how he had changed. But oh, how she hated to be the one to tell him about Hermione … _No more dithering,_ she reprimanded herself sternly. She entered the room.

Severus lay on his back, the blankets pulled up high as if he was cold. And maybe he was – he was deathly pale. He'd never had much colour, but now he was as white as the sheets of the bed he was lying in. Thinner than ever, he looked positively cadaverous now, his cheeks sunken in, eyes deep in their sockets with circles around them that were dark like bruises.

Minerva barely had the presence of mind to summon the visitor's chair. Sinking down, she sighed. "Oh, Severus."

He didn't turn his head, but his black eyes focused on her, the faintest glittering in their depths. The merest hint of a familiar scowl.

"Oh, Minerva," he whispered mockingly.

Relief flooded her. Even if it was not much of a snarl, this was very much the Severus Snape she knew. "How?" she asked. "How did you escape?"

He exhaled and closed his eyes. After a long moment of silence, he swallowed convulsively, as if his throat was painfully raw. "Alina," he muttered at last, his voice hoarse and so low she could barely hear him. "And the phoenix."

Another long silence, then the question Minerva had dreaded.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, Severus, I am so sorry. We don't know where she is." Minerva took a deep breath. "Or even if she is still alive at all."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** Just to recap - the whole trip into the Realm of Death and back took place during the night of Monday, January 29, 2001, to Tuesday, January 30, 2001.


	236. Nightmares Come True

**Nightmares Come True**

Hermione opened her eyes. For a moment she couldn't focus. Her head was pounding. Nausea twisted her insides, filling her mouth with the sour taste of an empty stomach. She lay still, trying to clear her mind, calm her stomach, and make sense of her surroundings.

_Where am I?_

She lay on a hard bed. Above her rose a vaulted ceiling of white-grey stone. Next to the foot of the bed was a small table and a stool. High in the centre of the arc of that wall, a small round window showed a bit of dark grey sky. Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and nearly vomited. When she could distinguish the floor from the ceiling again, she took in the rest of the cell. A solid wooden door to her right. Opposite of the bed was a narrow archway leading off and next to it, a small chest of drawers. Above it hung a simple crucifix made of dark wood.

Memories flooded her.

A moment later she was on her knees on the floor and vomiting bitter fluids, while tears streamed down her cheeks. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, but she couldn't – she sat and stared at her shaking hands, gasping and gagging. _Bad dream. Nightmare, _she thought. _Just a bad, bad dream._

But it was not a dream.

Then she remembered another dream, a vaguely familiar voice –

A threat –

_Alina!_ She had to get back! She needed to warn them! They – whoever _they_ were – they wanted Alina! Somehow she managed to pull herself upright. Her knees were shaking and she was still dizzy from the drugs and she had no idea where she was. Still – she needed to get away from here now! She needed to Apparate home, to Hogwarts, she needed to warn them!

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could on the Apparition point just outside Hogwarts. _Destination, determination, and deliberation,_ she murmured, her voice searing her raw throat. _Hogwarts. Need to warn them._ She concentrated.

The pain of the CRACK! nearly exploded her head. She was thrown backwards against the wall from the power of her spell. But she hadn't Apparated.

And when she tried to get up, she found that she was too weak to even lift her head.

_Anti-Apparition wards,_ the impassive, cold voice of logic in her mind told her. _And something else. Something that sucks away magic and renders it ineffective. Similar to that leeching spell._ For a long moment Hermione stared at the cross on the other wall. Then she closed her eyes. _Of course. Severus was right all the time. Church wizards. Necromancers in the robes of monks. _She exhaled softly. _No one will ever find me here._

**oooOooo**

"Are you sure that you feel good enough to attend the funeral?" Ginny asked anxiously, after she'd carefully dripped the prescribed number of eye-drops into Harry's eyes. Madame Dubois would be buried at Hogwarts this afternoon.

"Of course I'm sure, Gin," Harry grumbled. "I'm blind, not decrepit."

Four days after Harry's second excursion into the Realm of Death, Healer Mugwort had corrected her expectations regarding his eyesight to _'careful pessimism' _(though of course the Healers at St. Mungo's would continue to do their best to find a cure.)

His condition had nothing to do with his experience of Death as such – and everything with his failed attempt to turn himself into stone. He had partly succeeded. Even Woodstock's tears hadn't healed all the damage he'd done to himself. On his left foot he'd lost two toes. That is, they had been there when the Healers examined him. But they had been turned into shiny black stone and broken off at the first touch. Now he kept them in a box in the upper drawer of his bedside table. His eyes had seemed okay at first, though they had changed colour. They were blacker even than Severus' eyes, and harder. Like stone. On the second day, a certain dryness in the eyes had irritated him. On the third morning, he couldn't read the 'get well' cards from his colleagues. In the evening, he didn't recognise faces of visitors anymore. When he had woken this morning, his vision had faded to black.

"I'm just worried," Ginny said calmly. "It's only been four days."

Harry sighed. "I know. I'm sorry." He rubbed the new snitch-shaped scar on his forehead and tried not to think of the fact that the Weasley family match was the last game of Quidditch in his life. "How's Alina?" he asked abruptly.

A sigh, a shifting of blankets and a movement of the mattress told him that Ginny was sitting down next to him. "Keeping up a cheerful appearance. Littering her room with bits of parchment."

"What do the Healers say?"

Another sigh. "That she will never hear or speak again."

"Damn. – And Ron?"

"Allowed to get up for the funeral. Still weak, of course, but he'll be okay."

Harry knew how Severus was, as his room was just next door. Still weak, but physically unscathed. His frame of mind was an altogether different matter. Although Aurors, Unspeakables and the SSS were out in droves, there was still no trace of Hermione. Harry also suspected that Severus was blaming himself for Alina's and his own condition.

A knock on the door.

"Are you ready?" Healer Mugwort would accompany them to the funeral and back. Harry, Severus and Alina were scheduled to remain at St. Mungo's for no less than another week.

**oooOooo**

Ginny stared at the smoke. Harry's grip around her arm was painful.

She blinked away tears. _What if I'd been there?_ She balled her hands to fists. _Could I have prevented this?_ She knew that she could drive herself insane with such questions. _And I can't afford weakness. I must be strong now. For Harry. For Ron and Lois and Alina. _She glanced at the white-faced Potions Master, who stood with his head bowed. _And Snape. _

_Oh, Hermione …_

******oooOooo**


	237. No

**"No."**

Hermione lay on her narrow bed and stared at the vaulted ceiling. She did a lot of that lately. There was nothing else to do. Her cell contained only two books. A bible and a book of prayers and hymns. She refused to touch them.

The muted sound of singing drifted through the window. It was just before noon, time for the midday prayer. She wondered how long she'd been here. She was almost certain that she'd lost a day after her failed Apparition attempt. Two nuns – dressed in white with black gowns and veils – had come to bring her supper and help her into bed that evening. They had ignored her questions, her tears and her screams. With silent smiles they had spread the blankets over her, put the small stool next to her bed and placed a bowl of soup and a piece of bread on it. Then they had left her. She hadn't touched the food and lain in the darkness, crying helplessly.

When she had woken again, it was evening once more and the food was gone. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the next day or already Thursday. Besides, it would make no difference if she knew what day of the week it was or what date. She would still be a prisoner here. And it would still be her hands that had killed her husband and her best friend.

**oooOooo**

"Seven steep steps," Severus said softly as he guided Harry into the Death Chamber of the Ministry of Magic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how the young wizard clenched his teeth. He couldn't tell if the location of the debriefing bothered Harry or if he was biting back an irritable retort. Since they had returned from Death, Harry had grown very reticent. Small wonder.

For a second he considered suggesting that it was early days yet. A cure might yet be found, or at least a way to provide magical vision for Harry à la Madeye Moody. Both were true. But both were unlikely according to expert opinion of specialists at St. Mungo's.

Distracted by helping Harry and his musings, Severus noticed the Veil only when they had reached the floor of the Death Chamber.

He stopped abruptly, giving Harry a start.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

Severus couldn't reply at once, his gaze riveted by the isolated archway and the Veil. A wind out of nowhere billowed the smooth, perfect rectangle of the Veil, blowing it high enough into the Death Chamber that Severus could see the back of the fabric. Or to be completely precise: he could not see it. What he saw was a shimmering in the air that hinted at the esoteric fabric of an invisibility cloak.

"The Veil," the cool voice of the Minister of Magic supplied. "It is no longer tattered and torn. Apparently the theory that your invisibility cloak was made of the fabric of the Veil was correct. Now it has been restored."

Harry swallowed dryly. With hard, empty black eyes he stared in the general direction of the archway. Then he cocked his head.

"I can still hear their voices," he said. "Very softly. But they are there. I wonder if that is what Alina hears."

Andromeda frowned. "I thought the girl was struck deaf and dumb?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, but like many deaf she can hear noises that are inside her mind. In her case, voices. Sighs, screams, sobbing. I suspect she hears the sounds that people utter before they die."

"Merlin." The Minister blanched.

"Won't help her," Severus replied bitterly.

Andromeda frowned at him, but did not react to this slight. "Is there anything that will help her?"

"Not as far as the experts in St. Mungo's can tell."

Harry pressed his arm and leant forwards a little. "Severus' phoenix. Alina can hear Woodstock. Apparently phoenix song alleviates the pain caused by the voices. Headmistress McGonagall and Severus have permitted Alina to keep the phoenix with her at all times."

"That is … very kind. – Now, please sit down, so we can discuss what has happened."

"And what is being done to find Hermione," Severus added with a hint of steel to his voice.

**oooOooo**

"… the Vatican assures us that they do not employ any practicing witches or wizards anymore, not even as exorcists. Their liasion was horrified when he was informed of all the details. They have installed a commission to investigate the crimes. We hope that the collaborative efforts of the Vatican, the Secret Service for Sorcerers, the Unspeakables, the Aurors and plain Muggle police forces will produce results quickly," Andromeda concluded.

"What about a blood search?" Severus asked.

"A team of Unspeakables with a forensics specialist are already on their way to Australia to obtain a blood sample from Hermione's parents. But as not even your house-elf could locate her, they are less than hopeful that more ordinary means will be successful."

"Then use extraordinary means!" Severus snarled.

Andromeda met his gaze squarely. Her voice was cold and professional, when she replied, "That is exactly what we are doing. Or what would _you_ call a collaboration between the Church, Muggle police, and the wizarding world?" With slightly more warmth, she continued, "Severus, I know that this is a very difficult time for you, but you _have_ to face the possibility that Hermione is dead."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, very softly, he said a single word: "No."

**oooOooo**

Ron perched awkwardly on the counter in the saleroom of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Sometimes he still forgot that he didn't have a left arm anymore, tried to lean on it and had to jerk himself upright again in a clumsy fashion.

Harry's stony gaze was directed at an invisible point somewhere behind Ron's right ear.

"So do you think she's still alive somewhere?" Ron asked.

Harry rubbed his scar. "I have to," he said at last.

"If only for Severus' sake," he added in a whisper.

**oooOooo**


	238. Faith

**Faith**

The CRACK! that heralded a cross-Channel Apparition echoed in Severus' ears. Like all noises these days, it reminded him of all the sounds that Alina couldn't hear anymore. He could feel a vein begin to pulse in his temple.

To all appearances, Alina was coping admirably with her disabilities. The first two silent spells she'd mastered were _Wingardium Leviosa_ and _Dictaquill. _Now wherever she went, a piece of parchment floated over her right shoulder, with a Dictaquill scribbling down whatever she wanted to ask or say. Her friends and teachers had adopted similar methods when addressing her. Apart from that she was seeing a Muggle specialist who was teaching her to read lips. And – Severus couldn't quite suppress a smirk – she was teaching her little friends a secret sign language that was already causing trouble in the classrooms of a few of his colleagues.

But his smirk faded when he thought of the expression on the young girl's face when the voices inside her mind became too loud to bear. The way she'd excuse herself politely and hurry to her dormitory to listen to Woodstock's singing and cuddle her idiot jarvey until the sighs and screams faded again.

Severus shook himself and turned to the cathedral. It was a cold day, but the weather was dry and clear. He was all set to walk briskly towards the cathedral. But when he looked up at the Gothic towers, he halted before the first step.

A memory hit him like an iron fist into the pit of his stomach. Hermione. _Here._ Right after their wedding. How she'd twirled in front of him, thrilled at the surprise. The solemn look in her brown eyes as he'd led her down the side aisle of the cathedral. How he'd snarled at her for the irrelevant faux-pas of stuffing her hands into her pockets.

He was not prepared for the pain that wrenched his heart in the wake of that particular reminiscence. For a moment he stood motionless. It was an effort to breathe.

But he could not break down now. He was here for a reason.

**oooOooo**

_"Pardon, je cherche l'abbé Rigaud."_ – Excuse me, I am looking for Father Rigaud.

_"Oh, je suis désolé, monsieur. __L'abbé Rigaud est décédé. Il est mort oh… je pense en Decembre?" _– Oh, I am very sorry, Mister. Abbé Rigaud has passed away. He died oh… I think last December?"

**oooOooo**

There was no good reason to visit the Cimetière Saint Chéron in the Rue Saint Barthélemy, but Severus went anyway. He had to ask for the way twice, once near the cathedral, and then again at the cemetery itself. But at last he stood in front of a plain, unassuming tomb.

_'Absolon Rigaud,'_ was engraved in the grey stone. And: _'January 17, 1913 to December 6, 2000.' _

A long life. A good life. Severus sighed. The Abbé had been right with his prediction that they would not meet again.

Severus recognised the epitaph as a quotation by Saint Augustine.

_Est autem fides credere quod nondum vides; cuius fidei merces est videre quod credis._ – Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.

Severus sank to his knees. _I believe that Hermione is still alive,_ he thought desperately. _I do. I have to._

But here, where nobody knew him, where no one had ever heard of him or of his world, Severus allowed himself to sink down on his knees. He bowed his head, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

A gentle voice penetrated his own private hell of grief. "Sir? Was he a friend of yours? Is there anything I can do for you?"

A monk in Franciscan habit stood a few feet away, regarding him with a worried expression. Something about the monk seemed familiar, but Severus couldn't place him. He shook his head and quickly rose to his feet. "No," he said curtly. For a second Severus wanted to hex the man just because he was a monk. "No. I need to – I need to catch my – my train."

He spun on his heel and hurried away. As soon as he was safely out of sight, he Apparated with the slightest POP! he'd ever managed for a cross-Channel Apparition.

**oooOooo**

"I am sorry, Harry," Draco said. "But wherever Hermione is, it is a place that ghosts can't reach."

Harry couldn't reply at once. He rested his forehead in his hands and resisted his temptation to rub his burning eyes. That would only hurt. For all that his eyes had turned more or less to stone, they were still curiously sensitive.

On the other hand, he couldn't cry anymore.

Some people probably would have called him lucky.

At last he raised his head again and wearily rubbed his scar. "Thank you anyway. I really appreciate that." Then he sighed and turned to a nearly man-high stack of parchments. "Now, where were we with this mess?"

Since he couldn't work as an Auror anymore, Harry had been assigned to the archive of the Ministry. He shared office space with Draco and he was still not sure if this was actually a real job, or just charity.

**oooOooo**

One night Hermione struck down the nun who brought her dinner with the wooden stool. A minute later she discovered that the wards that kept her from Apparating also kept her from simply walking out of the cell. From then on two nuns came to serve her meals, and she suspected that a third was waiting outside the door.

**oooOooo**

Of course she also tried to use voiceless magic in order to unravel the wards. Severus Snape hadn't been her husband for nothing. But the spells that imprisoned her were more devious than that. As soon as she touched them with her power, they sucked her magic out of her, body, mind and soul. Afterwards, the enchantments that held her captured were stronger than ever.

**oooOooo**

She tried not to think of Severus.

And failed.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **Abbé Rigaud was the priest who was friends with Severus, and whom Hermione met in chapter 73/74 when Severus took her to Chartres just after the wedding.


	239. So Sad

**So Sad**

_"Don't exaggerate like that! I want to see your mouth, not your gums!"_ Alina's quill scribbled angrily, fluffing its feather at Crudass. Alina didn't even bother with using her wand anymore. Before her tête-à-tête with Death, she had been one of the quickest students of her year. Now she was easily the slowest. On the other hand, when she had finally mastered a spell, she usually performed it not only voiceless, but also wandless. It had come natural to her, and she didn't give it a second thought. It was simply much more convenient not to use a wand to direct her parchment and Dictaquill to do her bidding.

Alina was tired and cranky. Usually, her lack of hearing and speech didn't bother her much (or at least that's what she kept trying to tell herself.) But the practice sessions for lip reading were an ordeal.

Geilis turned to face her, so Alina would have no trouble seeing the movements of her lips. With her right hand, Alina's friend directed a Dictaquill of her own to simultaneously write down her words on a lop-sided piece of parchment that hovered near her right ear. _"You started these lessons just a month ago. You can't expect to get perfect at it over night."_

Alina scowled at her friend and opened her mouth in a silent sigh. Slowly her Dictaquill spelled out the words: _"I know. It's just …"_

Geilis hugged her friend. Her parchment and quill fell unnoticed to the ground and Crudass shifted awkwardly next to them, obviously unsure what to do – if he was allowed to hug Alina, too.

_"Thanks,"_ Alina mouthed silently to Gilly. Then she jerked her head up at her parchment.

_"I don't want to go home for the holidays. We're moving in with Ron." _

Crudass couldn't get the hang of _Wingardium Leviosa,_ so he simply held the results of his Dictaquill spell up for Alina to read. Unfortunately, his penmanship transferred to the spell. Alina rolled her eyes, but by now she was pretty good at deciphering even the most illegible scribbling. _"No, it's not that. I do like him."_

Glancing around warily, Alina called down her parchment, caught the Dictaquill and wrote by hand: _"Call me silly, but I don't want to leave Professor Snape alone. Until they find Hermione, he needs looking after."_

Her fellow Slytherin and dorm mate, Geilis, nodded at once. Crudass, Gryffindor and rather left-handed at Potions, grimaced.

"He won't be alone," he said. "Easter hols are short. All the teachers stay here. And some students."

This time, Alina got the gist of what he was saying. She shrugged, wrote something in very small letters and showed it only to Geilis, while Crudass tried remain aloof and ignore the secretive aside and failed horribly.

_"He looks so sad,"_ Alina had written.

**oooOooo**

"Alina is getting on much better than I would have believed possible after such a short time," Minerva McGonagall remarked, watching Alina and her friends from the High Table at tea time. Next to her, Severus stiffened.

"She has made immense progress during the last few weeks thanks to your lessons, Severus," Minerva went on, pointedly ignoring the shadow of pain that flowed over her colleague's face. "I still have high hopes for her."

She said aloud what nearly all teachers were thinking. Yes – Alina's handicaps were a tragedy. But with Severus' lessons in voiceless and wandless magic, she was turning them into an advantage. Her progress might be slower than that of her classmates now, but her successful spells possessed the focus and the power of an adult.

Severus didn't bother to comment, but the harsh lines that bracketed his mouth deepened.

"Severus, you cannot blame yourself. Alina's actions saved your life and Harry's." Her voice hardened. "And even if you don't believe that your lives are worth Alina's health, what's done is done. Look at her! Is she beating herself up? Does she blame you, Harry or Professor Weasley? No. She lives with the choices she made."

"She is too young to have to live with such choices," Severus muttered. He looked down at his plate and pushed it away, the sandwich untouched.

Minerva shook her head and decided not to pursue the topic any further. It was easier to persuade a tea pot to tap-dance than to talk sense into Severus Snape. Briskly, she changed the topic, addressing an even touchier subject. "When our visitors arrive in half an hour, I expect you to be polite and cooperative. I know you do not trust the Ministry or that commission at the Vatican or the Muggle police. You have made that exceedingly plain."

So plain that several experts from St. Mungo's had been involved in sorting out the results of Severus' fit of temper.

"Yes."

"Severus, at the moment we must assume that we are dealing with a group of rogue priests or monks who may have hidden Hermione among unsuspecting Muggles. It _does_ make sense to search for her by magical and Muggle means. And if that means handing over photographs and a piece of clothing for the sniffer dogs, you should do so without making a fuss."

"Yes."

"And if Father Brown asks you something, it is in your _and Hermione's_ best interest if you don't answer in monosyllables."

"Yes."

**oooOooo**

"You don't trust me." Father Brown was small, squat, stout and unassuming. And Severus didn't trust the priest any further than he could throw him Muggle-style. Which was not far enough.

"No." Severus had lived within a web of lies within lies for far too many years. Was there a better way to prepare a final attack on the wizarding world than to lull them in a false sense of security based on a façade of cooperation?

And he hated showing Hermione's personal things to the priest and the Muggle police officer. Her books. Her photographs. Her clothes.

"What can I do?" the Priest asked.

Wild rage and bitter grief twisted his guts.

"Nothing," Severus spat.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** Father Brown is a textual allusion to, well, Father Brown. Chesterton's Father Brown that is.


	240. Pity

A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)

**oooOOOooo**

**Pity**

"Yes," interrupted Professor Weasley. "You could allow Professor Snape to read your mind."

Father Brown frowned. "Is that possible?"

Bill nodded. "It is a highly specialised branch of magic. But Professor Snape excels at it."

"I cannot recall having asked for your opinion," Severus snapped. "Or having invited you into my rooms."

"No," Bill replied evenly. "You didn't. Headmistress McGonagall did. But Legilimency_ is_ the obvious solution."

_To more than one problem._

Severus could read Professor Weasley's thoughts as clearly as if the DADA teacher had spoken didn't know if he ought to be glad that the other man shared his mistrust or if he ought to throttle him for the invasion of his privacy.

"Very well."

It took a moment for the meaning of the priest's words to register. A second later, Severus pressed his wand to the man's temple. How easy it would be to whisper the words _'Avada Kedavara'_ and be done with him …

_"Legilimens!"_ he hissed and plunged into the little priest's mind.

What he found, was worse than his worst fears.

_Honest shock and deep concern._

A secret meeting with a high-ranking church official, a cardinal no less, who was just as shocked. And worse – _scared._

Secret archives, stacks of paper, shelves overflowing, and documents dating back to when the Holy Inquisition was discontinued nearly a hundred years ago, when it was transformed into _'__The Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office'_ in 1908. A papal order signed and sealed that disbanded a certain secret Order within the Inquisition.

The discovery that certain documents detailing the identities of the members of this Order had disappeared. A first trace that connected this very Order with the death of a Pope.

Personal thoughts at the back of the priest's mind. A mixture of love and shame concerning a younger sister. A woman Brown thought of as _'a flamboyant, butch, Lesbian Wiccan of all things'_. A stoic refusal to repudiate these familial ties in spite of his acute embarrassment. Instead a resigned acceptance of the fact that this connection would always keep him in the fourth tier of Church hierarchy.

And, very much at the top of the priest's emotions, pity.

Deep, heartfelt pity for a man in black robes so strangely similar to the priest's own. Pity for a pale man with black hair and a face haggard and worn with grief.

Severus came back to himself with a gasp. He dragged a shaking hand across his face. "Do you have everything you came for?" he asked in a whisper.

The priest, his face as calm and yes, as foolishly trusting as before, nodded.

"Then get out," Severus said very softly. "Get out of my sight and only come back when you have news of my wife."

**oooOooo**

_I hate what is happening to me in my fantasies,_ Hermione wrote.

They did not allow her pens. Probably because you could kill yourself with a pen. You could stick it into your guts if you wanted to die badly enough. Or through your eye into your brain. That would work, too.

But they _did _give her a laptop for two hours each day – as long as the battery lasted. Obviously they did not trust her with a cable. The nuns who took care of her were not unkind. Hermione wondered what they had been told about her. Maybe that she was mentally disturbed? That seemed most likely. Whatever it was had to be a very reasonable explanation, because neither her screams, nor her tears, nor her quiet explanations and pleas moved any of the nuns to break her vow of silence.

Not that Hermione supposed that they could actually understand a word of what she was saying. She surmised that she was no longer in Britain. The hills and woods she could see from her tiny window seemed Mediterranean to her. And though she had no idea whether the subdued Latin songs that drifted through her window were sung with an Italian, French or Spanish accent, it did not sound as if their native tongue had ever been English.

After more than two months in captivity, Hermione had trained herself to sleep most of the day. This was not difficult. She was always exhausted, even though she never left her cell and barely moved. At first she thought that being without magic, without wands, for the first time since she was eleven, caused that condition. But as the days went by, she began to suspect there was more to her fatigue.

Strangely enough the idea that the wards of her cell must act like the original leeching spell did not scare her. Instead it brought her a measure of comfort.

_One day, in the not too distant future,_ she wrote, _I will be dead. And I shall be glad of it._

**oooOooo**

But in her sleep, she dreamt. Of magic. Of magic and sex and Severus, always Severus.

And death, of course.

She would throw her head back in the ecstasy of orgasm. But when her vision cleared, she would hold not her husband's face, but a skull. And patches of decaying black hair would stick to her hands.

She'd wake then, sobbing. She'd stumble and crawl through the archway opposite her bed to the toilet in the corner and vomit until only bile came up. At last she would sink back against the wall and stare at her hands. In the nightly shadows they would turn to bones. Beautiful, fragile bones. White like the porcelain of the toilet beside her.

But when she finally collapsed on the floor, one treacherous hand would slide down her body, to the apex of her thighs, and slip between her legs. And she would find herself wet with the desire of her dreams.

_I am going crazy,_ Hermione wrote. _I know I am. I am making love to death in my fantasies. Severus is dead. I killed him. I dream of death, and it is the only pleasure left to me._

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **It seems appropriate to remind all readers that all characters, places and events in this story are either the products of the relevant author's imagination or they are used entirely fictiously.

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.


	241. Crush and Crushed

**Crush and Crushed**

_"We're really truly going to live here??"_

Lois rolled her eyes at Alina and scribbled something on a notepad. _"If you want to talk to me, stop that parchment from zooming around your head."_ But she nodded and smiled.

_"WOW."_ The letters formed large and green on Alina's parchment. They blinked and danced. Lois' heart broke at Alina's new version of excited squealing. On the back of the other chair, the phoenix started chirping, as Woodstock picked up on Alina's exuberant mood.

_'Here' _was a narrow, half-timbered town-house in Fore Close, one of the courts off the better part of Diagon Alley, close to the premises of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Lois pointed at the chair on the other side of the table. "Sit down. We have to talk."

Alina's expression grew wary, but she sat down. Since coming home for the Easter holidays, Alina had been short-tempered and prone to tears. Lois suppressed a sigh. A part of Alina's moods was due to the normal hormonal changes that all female teenagers endured. (What a timing!) But with nothing to distract her from her new disabilities and unable to leave the house on her own in the Muggle world, Alina was increasingly miserable. And she was taking it out on whoever happened to be present, apart from Woodstock and her jarvey, Cicero. It was clear that Alina's days in the Muggle world were over.

Lois bent over her notepad. She was almost sure that Alina wouldn't mind what she was about to write. But not completely. Alina had changed. Understandably. But it was difficult for Lois to reconcile the sulking, silent teenager with the cheerful, chattering child she remembered. She shook herself. Such thoughts wouldn't help.

_"We will live here,"_ Lois wrote. _"And there's something else." _She hesitated, then continued_. "Ron has asked me to marry him." _

She slid the notepad over to Alina and watched her daughter. To her relief, a huge grin spread over Alina's face – only to fade a second later. The ubiquitous parchment floated towards Lois. Black ink flowed from the Dictaquill. _"Where _is_ Ron? If you're going to marry, shouldn't he be here?"_

"Oh, darling," Lois murmured and reached for the notepad again. "I wanted to talk about this with you first."

Alina frowned in deep concentration as she tried to read her mother's lips. Then she exhaled deeply, smiled again and nodded. The Dictaquill scribbled something and ended with a flourish. _"Did you think I'd object? You know I like Ron!"_

Heat suffused Lois' cheeks. _"I've never done this before,"_ she wrote quickly. _"I wanted to do it the right way."_

_"And ask my permission?" _the Dictaquill wrote. The words blinked, as Alina chuckled silently.

Lois laughed, relief coursing through her. "Yes," she admitted.

She picked up her pen again. _"I will also change jobs. I will work as a Muggle consultant at St. Mungo's."_

Alina frowned. _"Just because of me?"_ She was touchy about people going out of their way more than necessary to accommodate her.

"Yes and no," Lois answered. She put the pen to the paper once more. _"The new job will make it easier to be there for you as long as you need me. It is also a job that allows me to live in my husband's world. And it is a great professional challenge."_

Alina stared at the notepad for a while, then she nodded, accepting her mother's honest explanation. _"So what are we waiting for?"_ her Dictaquill wrote. _"Shouldn't we find Ron and celebrate?"_

**oooOooo**

In archival dungeons of the Ministry of Magic Severus scowled at yet another stack of parchments that held no clue concerning the witch hunters of the Holy Inquisition.

"I hear that Hannah Abbott is seeing Neville Longbottom," he remarked abruptly, without looking at the translucent face of the ghost at his side.

Draco sighed. His silvery form seemed to shrink a little.

"Carrying life, she needs a living person to take care of her now, not a ghost," he said resignedly. "Someone who can hold her when she cries without giving her goose bumps."

The silence lengthened.

At last Draco added, "But I will get to see my son. That's worth a lot."

**oooOooo**

In a dormitory in Slytherin House, Alina and Geilis lay huddled under a large duvet, the curtains of the four poster pulled tightly shut around them. They were scribbling on a Muggle notepad to the dim light of two wands.

_you got it bad don't you_

_what r u talking about_

Alina fidgeted uncomfortably.

_snape,_ Geilis wrote without looking at Alina_. u r crushin on him hard_

She wanted to shake her head violently and deny everything. But her friend knew her too well.

_least I can't stammer n blush in class,_ Alina wrote and attempted a wry grin.

_u do blush_

Alina buried her head in her pillow. But Gilly poked her into her ribs until she looked at the notepad again.

_u no that he'll only evr love Hermione_

Alina nodded and impatiently dashed at her overflowing eyes. She pushed her pencil so hard at the pad that its tip broke off. Without a word, Gilly handed Alina her own pen.

_Hermione's my friend,_ Alina wrote. _But sometimes I hope she won't come back. I'm an awful person. I hate myself._

She hid her face in the pillow once more, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Geilis put her arm around her, murmuring reassuring sounds that Alina couldn't hear, and held her friend until Alina had fallen asleep.

**oooOooo**

Severus sat at his desk and stared at a wizarding photograph of Hermione. The picture was exactly a year old that day. It was a picture from their wedding, taken in the Room of Requirement. Hermione was standing in front of a high, Gothic window, a blue summer sky at her back. A gentle breeze was tugging at her curls. She was beautiful in the dress of moss-green velvet that hugged her slender curves.

And her smile was only for him.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** I think it makes sense for Alina's hero-worship to turn into a bit of a crush. Naturally nothing will come of it except an acute sense of embarrassment for Alina. But it's a part of growing up and it seemed to fit into the emotionally tense months I am describing in this chapter.


	242. Sin

**Sin**

_I am sure that I am somewhere near the Mediterranean, _Hermione typed_. Today is my birthday, the computer tells me. But it's still warm and the sky is so blue that the colour almost hurts my eyes._

When a breeze carried the hymn of the midday prayer into her room, she paused, trying to identify the song. She was getting quite good at that – recognising the hymns based on just a few words. But she also had a lot of practice by now.

_I am thinking about sin again,_ Hermione wrote. _I am trying to translate psalm 51. Why that one? No idea. I stuck my finger into the Bible, and that's the verse that came up._

She didn't sleep quite as much anymore and she needed to fight the choking boredom of imprisonment.

_I guess I can count myself lucky that I started to learn Latin for my apprenticeship. Or I would have nothing to read at all but the help file of MS Word._

**_Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam; et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam._**

_Something to do with mercy. And destroying … my _iniquitas …

_What I did wrong._

**_Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea, et a peccato meo munda me._**

Lavare _… that's washing. Wash away my sin? As if that's possible._

_ I know that _they_ made me do it. I know it was the _Imperius._ I know that I was just a tool. But that doesn't change the fact that I broke the wands. And in that moment, I _wanted _to break them. In that moment, I wanted to kill my husband and my best friend._

_… and I did._

**_Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco, et peccatum meum contra me est semper._**

_Because I know what I did wrong. And my sin is always against me? No. Before me._

Hermione stopped typing and stared at her treacherous hands.

_Yes, _she thought, not bothering to wipe away her tears._ My sin is always before me._

**oooOooo**

It was Hermione's 22nd birthday and Snape hadn't appeared for his classes. The house-elves reported that he was drinking in the dungeons. Minerva met Harry at the Apparition point and led him down into the dungeons. At the door of Snape's private library, she left him.

"Good luck," she said softly. "You'll need it."

"A big wooden hammer would work better," Harry muttered.

**oooOooo**

"Come to cheer up the grieving widower, have you?" Snape sneered, without turning his gaze away from a photograph of Hermione he was holding in his hands.

"Snap out of this!" Harry shouted. "So you think that _you_ ought to have died?" The air was biting with the sharp tang of Firewhisky. "That _you_ ought to have ended up without a left arm, struck deaf, blind and mute? Sorry, mate, but it doesn't work that way. Do you think Hermione would want you to act like that? Locking yourself away and drinking yourself into a stupor to celebrate her birthday? Do you think you're helping her any that way?"

For a long moment the room was silent, and all that Harry could hear was his own, heavy breathing. His eyes felt hot and heavy in their sockets.

When he thought that Snape wouldn't speak again that day, Severus finally replied, his voice almost gentle, "Do you really believe that matters anymore? That anything I do – or you do – can help her anymore?"

"Is that a reason to give up?"

Another long silence.

Then, very softly: "No."

**oooOooo**

Cato and Alina sat with their backs to the parapet of the Astronomy Tower. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, so Hogwarts was empty except for the Firsties and the Second Years. And none of them dared to climb the Tower. For October and the Scottish Highlands it was an unusually warm day.

_y didn't you go to hogsmeade?_ Alina's words formed lazily on the piece of parchment she'd stuck to the stone beside her.

Above them Woodstock was soaring in crazy circles, a brilliant flash of purple, red and gold, playing _'catch me if you can'_ with some young thestrals.

Alina's first experience with Hogsmeade had been pretty much a disaster. After the secret investigations hadn't yielded any trace of Hermione, the Minister of Magic had decided to go public with the whole story. Alina – as the heroine of the adventure – was still caught up in the backlash of that decision. When she'd shown up in Hogsmeade with Woodstock on one shoulder, her trusty piece of parchment hovering over the other, she'd caused an Apparition jam with three minor Splinchings, just because so many people were desperate to get an autograph. Cato was not surprised that she'd decided to stay at Hogwarts today.

He looked at the pretty, dark-haired girl and considered carefully the best strategy for how to deal with the difficult Slytherin. In the end he opted for an approach she would not expect.

"I like you," he said simply. Then he hesitated before he added meaningfully. _"Very much."_ The words simultaneously appeared on his own piece of parchment. "So naturally I want to spend time with you."

**oooOooo**

_and then he asked if he might kiss me,_ Alina's quill spelt out for Geilis. It was past curfew and they were once again ensconced in Alina's four poster.

_did you??_ Gilly wrote back, green eyes wide.

Alina's stomach fluttered with a million tiny butterflies when she remembered Cato's warm lips on hers.

_i thought i might as well try it …_ Alina laughed silently. Then she gripped her friend's hands and widened her eyes at her. _u know how the teachers always say that Cato's so gifted?_ Gilly blinked. Alina giggled even more. _they are totally right! _

"Wow," Geilis mouthed. Then she pursed her lips and grabbed the notepad.

_and snape?_

Alina grimaced. A hot wave of mortification flowed over her at the thought of the embarrassing crush that had turned the last weeks of her Second Year into agony.

_will never stop trying to find Hermione _

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **Psalm 51: 1-3 in the Vulgata Clementina reads: "(1) Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam ; et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam. (2) Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea, et a peccato meo munda me. (3) Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco, et peccatum meum contra me est semper." - The English translation, King James version of Psalm 51: 1-3 is: "(1) Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. (2) Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. (3) For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me."

At 13/14 a crush may fade easily within months - especially if a real boy with a real interest in the relevant girl shows up. And I imagine that both Barret Cruddace and Cato Cornell might start _really_ liking Alina rather sooner than later.


	243. A Very Merry Christmas

**A Very Merry Christmas**

Ron and Harry had always ridiculed Hermione for being chronically organised – for her colour-coded notes, revision schedules and endless to-do-lists. Both boys claimed her lists were driving them crazy.

Now those very lists were keeping Hermione sane. Or at least from going completely _insane._

When the nuns had given her the laptop, making a list had been nearly the first thing she'd done – right after checking if there was a way to connect to the internet. No such luck. Even the standard games had been removed, leaving her with only MS Word.

What she couldn't understand in the first place was _why_ they had provided her with the laptop. The Bible made sense. She was in a monastery. And though her memories were hazy from shock and the influence of the drugs, she did recall the words of her jailer: _"… not beyond salvation … penitence may lead to redemption …" _The Bible and the book of prayers would be tools for that purpose.

But why the laptop? Why? Was there anything they wanted from her yet? Did she _know_ something important, maybe without being aware of it, and they were trying to trick her into revealing it?

However, if they wanted something beyond _'saving' _her and beyond preventing her from passing on any evidence of their crimes, why did no one talk to her? Why did they simply leave her alone in this cell for months?

She couldn't comprehend that rationale. So she made lists to help her understand and to formulate her strategies. She typed lists, memorised them and deleted them again.

A list for the worst case scenario: She knew that Severus and Harry were dead – she had killed them; Ron had Splinched, losing an arm – she rather doubted that he'd been able to Apparate to safety, so he was probably dead, along with Alina and Lois; Madame Dubois had been shot several times before she collapsed at Hermione's feet – so she must be dead, too. Hermione couldn't remember the names of the Aurors, only gunshots in the night. They were likely dead, as well.

Then she made a list of her attempts to escape and the reasons for her failure.

She had attempted to Apparate, but there were anti-Apparition wards.

She had tried talking to the nuns, pleading with them, screaming at them. But they remained silent. They smiled at her and embraced her. They held her when she cried. But they did not help her. Wrecking the furniture had merely caused the nuns to remove the broken remains, leaving Hermione with nothing but the mattress on the floor.

Finally she had knocked down a nun to force her escape – and discovered that apparently the wards allowed only Muggles to leave her cell.

Upon trying to unravel the wards, she had learnt that every time she used magic in the cell, her power was sucked out of her and into the wards. That had inspired her to use up her magic until the wards might mistake her for a Muggle. Unfortunately it turned out that the wards were not designed to let Muggles pass at all. They were simply constructed to keep Hermione Jean Snape imprisoned.

Then there was the list with her attempts to kill herself.

It was short. Suicide didn't come easy to her. Trying to beat in her head had been more a reaction to grief and guilt than an honest attempt to kill herself. When she had poured all of her magic into the wards, allowing them to suck her dry, she had wanted to die. But she fainted before she succeeded. With no furniture, she couldn't reach the window and its iron bars, so she could not hang herself anymore. She also couldn't drown herself. The loo was just a small hole in the floor, set in white porcelain. The sink was so shallow that the water barely covered her flattened hands before it overflowed and drained away in the toilet.

Days, weeks, months passed.

Hermione read the Bible and spent long evenings contemplating a reasonably sharp piece of wood salvaged from the destroyed furniture. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to slash the veins in her wrist.

She tried to summon a Patronus and failed.

It was Christmas.

**oooOooo**

On Christmas Eve, Severus sat alone in his library. At Minerva's insistence, he had attended dinner in the Great Hall. At Harry's insistence, he would go to the Burrow for Boxing Day.

Everyone would be there. Family and friends. Neville Longbottom and his girlfriend Hannah Abbott with Draco's infant son Scorpius. A one-armed and strangely adult Ron Weasley with his new wife, Lois Petrel-Weasley, three months pregnant with twins. Ginny Potter, by all accounts radiant with pregnancy as well.

Outside torchlight made the inky black surface of the lake sparkle and glitter festively. Severus thought of last Christmas. How strangely happy it seemed in retrospect, in spite of all strains and fears. He remembered the concert they went to. Hermione had held his hand and smiled at him, her brown eyes lighting up almost golden. He recalled how they had kissed. How they had made love. How they had argued. The way he'd taken his moods out on Hermione. Strange that this should turn out to be the happiest time in his whole life.

Suddenly a perverse mood struck him.

He had not attempted to summon a Patronus ever since his attempt at producing one had failed in February and Minerva's own Patronus had not been able to reach Hermione. But now he raised his left wand (birch with sphinx feather; rebirth and wisdom – how he wanted to laugh).

_"Expecto Patronum,"_ he said softly and waved his wand.

For a moment nothing happened. The room lay dark and silent.

Then silver mist flowed towards him from the corners of the room and coalesced into an unfamiliar form.

A white swan spread her wings in front of him. She craned her elegant neck and regarded him calmly, her eyes dark and beautiful.

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N:** A big thank-you to Buckeye Belle for an interesting and inspiring discussion.


	244. Ugly Duckling

**Ugly Duckling**

"A swan?" Ron snorted. "But Hermione never was a swan. More like the ugly duckling." He chuckled. "Though she was quite good at hen-pecking us into line."

Then he caught the expression on Snape's face.

"Ron, you prat!" Harry's voice was tight with anger.

"Oh, Ron you great oaf," Ginny scolded. "You should be grateful that she nagged the two of you the way she did. I doubt you'd have passed your OWLs without her!"

But Ron didn't appear to hear her at all. His gaze had followed the direction of Snape's.

A beautiful, swan-shaped Patronus drifted serenely next to Victoire's wooden toy ship in the small garden pond of the Burrow. When Ron turned away, Ginny thought she could see tears glittering in the corners of Ron's eyes.

"I – _uh_ – I better go – check on Lois and Mum in the kitchen," Ron mumbled and hurried from the room.

Ginny took a deep breath and went to stand next to Snape. "I'm so sorry."

The Potions Master only shrugged, without looking away from the swan. "Mr. Weasley has never been one to mince words," he commented, his voice laced with just a hint of sarcasm.

The absence of a scathing reply scared Ginny. Just a year ago she'd have been scraping Ron's flayed skin from the ceiling, metaphorically speaking. _And now …_ she desperately wanted to offer Snape a word of comfort, but what was there to say?

To her surprise it was Snape who added something. "He is right, of course. Hermione has never been what most people consider a great beauty. But she _is_ beautiful to me. And always will be."

Ginny knew it was probably a bad idea, but she just had to ask. "Do you know why?"

"Why a swan for the ugly duckling?" Snape raised an eyebrow, while outside the form of the Patronus dissolved into thin air. "Last Christmas Hermione _'nagged' _me, as you put it, into going to a concert with her. Tchaikovsky's _'Swan Lake'._ I only recently realised how much I enjoyed it."

**oooOooo**

Boxing Day at the Burrow was not quite as distasteful as Severus had anticipated. At least most people seemed content to leave him be, sitting in silence. Even Ron's blunder did not annoy him anymore than an exploded cauldron in a shared lesson of Gryffindors and Slytherins; it was expected, he was used to it. What hurt most was to hear one of Hermione's closest friends speak of her in past tense.

_She is not dead,_ he thought, his gaze resting on his new swan-shaped Patronus. _Surely I would know it if she was dead._

Dinner passed with good-natured banter and the exchange of news both trivial and momentous as far as the lives of those present were concerned.

Only last week they had received the final verdict from the eye specialists at St. Mungo's. Harry's eyes resisted any spells to infuse them with magical vision and Harry resisted the idea of having his eyes removed so he could have _'proper'_ magical eyes à la Moody.

"Sometimes I think I see something. Shapes or shadows or something. So maybe the optic nerves haven't hardened completely," he insisted.

When George teased him, hinting that Harry was only afraid that magical softening of his eyes might interfere with _other _body parts hardening to a higher degree than before, Ginny couldn't stop giggling.

Hannah showed off baby Scorpius. But to Severus' surprise it was Neville who took care of the baby throughout the day. Harry's face hardened whenever he heard Hannah's voice. Obviously there were bad feelings between them. Though both Draco (who was dating a ghost from the archive of the French Ministry of magic now) and Hannah, who'd named the baby for Draco after all, insisted that between the two of them there were none.

Lois looked soft and happy, and laughed at Arthur Weasley's ridiculous suggestions concerning names for her twins.

And Alina was thankfully scribbling non-stop about Cato Cornell.

**oooOooo**

Late that night, when most of the guests had already left, Harry drew him aside and led him into Arthur's study, a small room that was stuffed from floor to ceiling with the most impossible Muggle gadgets, in all imaginable states of disrepair.

"Something's come up that we need to talk about," Harry said. "I'd rather not discuss it today, but I felt I should warn you." He took a deep breath. "There's talk at the Ministry of closing the case on February 1 next year."

Severus had to close his eyes for a second. He was grateful that Harry would not be able to see this moment of weakness. "That is the traditional period of time allotted to such investigations," he said tersely.

Harry nodded. "Severus, are you sure that she's still alive?"

Sometimes there was no greater pain than honesty.

"I don't know," he replied simply. "The Bond of master and apprentice as well as the Bond between husband and wife _should_ convey that at the very least. But wherever Hermione is kept, not even the Bond can reach her."

"Would you know _for sure_ if she were dead?"

"I believe so. But," Severus admitted, "sometimes I fear that my perceptions are clouded." He shook his head. "With wards that are strong enough to withstand the magic of house-elves, any wishful thinking on my part might distort any traces of the Bond." Wearily he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And I cannot deny that I am prone to wishful thinking where Hermione is concerned." He straightened up. "Well. I'd better Apparate back to Hogwarts now. Midnight rounds."

After a moment's hesitation he quickly squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Thank you for letting me know."

**oooOooo**

That night, Severus dreamed of a broad, meandering river, dappled green and golden with sunlight slanting through the trees, alders, willows and dignified poplars. On the river two swans were drifting with the currents.

One of them was black. The other white.

_She is alive,_ he thought in that dream. _And I will find her._

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **Many thanks to Organ-ic Chemist for reminding me to actually put my thoughts concerning the Bond INTO the chapter.


	245. The Hour that Sleeps the Swan

**A/N (1):** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about each chapter.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What's the most memorable line?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you like the story so far.

* * *

**oooOooo**

**The Hour that Sleeps the Swan**

Hermione lay naked on her mattress. Moonlight silvered the stone of her cell. Goose bumps traced her arms and legs, pearlescent on skin too white from many months spent indoors. The tiny hairs on her skin prickled. She couldn't tell when she'd fallen asleep or why she'd woken. But her legs were slightly parted, offering the sensitive skin of her vagina to the night. She did not need to touch herself to know that she was wet with need. She arched her hips upwards, a sigh on her lips. A sigh and a name. _Severus … _The syllables drifted away on the breeze like the distant sound of wings.

Suddenly the sound was closer, wings beating, the swishing of feathers against stone. A shadow darkened the window. For second it was absolutely black inside Hermione's cell. She couldn't breathe, her heart hammering. At the same time her womb tightened with arousal, and her clitoris pulsed.

In a rush of wings, a majestic black bird exploded into the room. One stroke of his wings brought him to her corner of the cell. He settled between her legs and spread his wings, craning his long, elegant neck.

_How strange,_ Hermione mused. _I thought black swans only live in Australia._

Suddenly she felt a delicious pressure against her clitoris. It might have been the gentle touch of a beloved finger where she needed it most, or the soft stroke of a black feather – she couldn't tell. Without warning, her release washed over her. She shuddered as her pelvic muscles spasmed, as she gasped and writhed.

_Severus, _she moaned. _Severus …_

In the morning, Hermione woke curled up tightly in her blankets. It was spring once more, but the nights were still cold. But when she rose to dress for the day (wondering as she always did, why she still followed such routines), she found a single white feather on her sheet.

**oooOooo**

_More than a year._ Severus closed his eyes and lowered his head to rest on his folded hands. He knew that no one would notice him. He was just another black-robed man praying in the cathedral of Chartres. _More than a year._ Whoever had been behind the leeching curse had never made another move. Had never made a move and thus, never made a mistake that could have led to capture.

He inhaled the scent of old stone, candles and cold incense. More than a year, and two years since the day he was married. _Case closed. _

The lisping voice of the court scribe that read out the parchment that relegated Hermione to nothing more than a note for the court files of the Wizengamot. Harry at his side, stony eyes black and hard. Ron and Lois – Lois round and sweet in the sixth month of her pregnancy – and he at a loss as to how he ought to react to her concerned words … Minerva, suddenly looking old and frail and tired. Draco quivering with anger. Like bizarre translucent, silver-hued jelly.

He'd run from the Ministry and Apparated straight to Chartres. Why to Chartres? Because he liked pain? Because it was the first spot he could think of that fit the description of _'as far away from here as humanly possible'? _He couldn't say. But he sat here now, hands folded, torn between the urge to smash the altar at the other end of the cathedral and throw himself down on the ground before it in supplication. Severus exhaled a shuddering breath. He ought to be grateful. Harry's influence had granted him another two months respite, a slim, infinitesimal chance, but a chance nonetheless.

_But now it was over._

_Case closed._

Movement, the swish of robes, the warmth of a body settling on the chair beside him. For the first time Severus realised that he was sitting on the labyrinth he had once shown to Hermione.

_"Monsieur,"_ a gentle voice said. "Please, do not be concerned that I approach you. But I think I saw you at the Cimetière Saint Chéron about a year ago."

Severus jerked upright, his right hand midair, his fingers itching to slip his wand from the sleeve.

A monk in Franciscan robes sat next to him, observing him with kind grey eyes. _"Monsieur,_ please, do not be upset. But I believe you knew my uncle, Abbé Absolon Rigaud. If I am not mistaken, you are Monsieur Severus Snape, are you not? I am Nihel Servais Rigaud. As you can see, I followed my uncle's footsteps. If not in his Order, at least in his avocation."

The tension drained so suddenly from Severus' body that he sagged in his chair. The monk did not move, but regarded him carefully.

"You were dear to my uncle's heart," he said. "Before he died, he asked me to …"

"To what?" Severus snapped, rallying. "Stalk me on cemeteries?"

The corners of the monk's mouth twitched. "Not quite." He leant back in his chair, his hands resting on his knees. "He asked me to watch out for you, and for your wife." The monk hesitated. "And to offer you spiritual succour should you need it."

Severus couldn't help himself, he started laughing. Choked, desperate. It was a cruel sound. A crazy sound.

"What can I do to help you?" the monk asked.

Severus wanted to laugh again, but when he inhaled, the sound that emerged from his throat was a sob, almost a wail, as bitter tears spilt from his eyes.

"Nothing," he whispered. "No one can help me."

"If there is nothing anyone can do," the monk said calmly. "Would you care for a walk? The garden of the bishop is especially lovely in spring."

**oooOooo**

Hermione finished the sentence and saved the file. The batteries of the laptop were almost empty. Not that it mattered. She had written what she always wrote.

A prayer for forgiveness and a confession of murder. A hidden call for help.

_But would anyone ever read it? And if they did, would they understand it?_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N (2):** The title of this chapter refers to a quote from the song "A Pillow of Winds" by Pink Floyd:

"Now wakes the hour that sleeps the swan  
Behold a dream, the dream is gone"

"Nihel" means "champion" and "Servais" is derived from the Latin word "servare" - "to save".


	246. The Beginning of Peace

**The Beginning of Peace**

"You told the monk _everything?_ And he simply believed you? _And_ he is going to help you?" asked Harry, voice breathy with incredulity. "Are you sure you can trust him? I mean, I know you trusted Abbé Rigaud. But he is dead. For all we know this might be a trap."

Severus glared at Harry, a method of intimidation wasted on the blind man.

"Don't teach your grandmother how to brew tea, Potter!" Severus snarled. He inhaled heavily, nostrils flaring. More calmly, he added, "Harry. _I know that._ … Maybe he and Father Brown are the best _Occlumentes_ ever born and our trust was misplaced from the start.  
"But we are out of options! I cannot reach Hermione with the Bonds or my _Patronus_. Owls and ghosts can't find her. The house-elves can't get to her. The Muggle police and the Vatican have given up. _The case is closed."_

Harry's leg twitched as if he wanted to jump up and pace his small office in the vaults of the Ministry. But he remained seated, motionless. At last he said quietly, "You're right. We _are_ out of options. We may be grasping at straws, but it's better than nothing." Harry sighed. "So what is Abbé Nihel going to do?"

"He hopes that Hermione is still in Europe," Severus replied. "He doesn't believe they used magic to transport her, since they regard magic as Evil. And the longer the transport, the greater the risk of discovery."

"I wonder if they think of themselves as Evil," Harry said thoughtfully. "They are wizards, after all."

Severus nodded, recalling Abbé Nihel's words: _'In destroying the Evil of your world, they hope to destroy the Evil within themselves and thus, save themselves. They are wrong – salvation lies with the Lord and not in the hands of men.'  
_"The Abbé thinks they didn't imprison Hermione themselves – they'd fear the temptation of her sorcery. If they used magic to subdue her and to silence her, they could have simply left her in any monastery. And that is where he will start searching for her."

"That makes sense." Harry frowned. "But if it's that simple, why did the Vatican fail to find her?"

"I asked that, too. Nihel assumes they anticipated the channels of official investigation. They are familiar with the hierarchy of the Church, the diplomatic contact between the Vatican and the wizarding world and the way such inquiries are handled."

"But?" Harry asked, eagerly leaning forwards across his desk.

Severus smiled slightly. "Abbé Nihel believes they cannot imagine that someone on the _inside_ of the Church, a priest, a monk – one of their own – would help us. Or that _we_ could overcome our ancient fears and ask one of them for help."

**oooOooo**

Hermione sat on the mattress in the corner. In her fingers she twirled the white feather that had inexplicably found its way into her cell.

_How would it be, _she wondered, _to turn into a swan and simply fly away?_

But she did not have the strength left for more than idle speculation. And dreams. Always dreams.

**oooOooo**

That night, Severus dreamt of a swan again. The white bird lay in his arms, nestled against him. When he stroked its feathers, the swan turned into Hermione. She pressed herself against him. Desire and despair mingled, need roared through him. He kissed the back of her neck and stroked his hands down her sides. He wanted to turn her around and enter her warmth. But he spilt himself before he ever saw her face, and woke, his own face wet with tears, his stomach and thighs sticky with semen.

**oooOooo**

Hermione did not give up hope on January 30 (the first anniversary of Severus' and Harry's deaths). Nor on February 2 (when she had been imprisoned a year and a day). Nor on April 28 (the second anniversary of her wedding).

On each occasion she carefully wrote her usual messages on the laptop.

Always a straightforward call for help. Always deleted, when the computer was returned to her the following day. Next came her lists. She still memorised and deleted them. And finally, what she had come to think of as her prayers. Only it was not God she prayed to. Most of the time she didn't know _whom_ she addressed.

The Muggle nun who checked the files on her laptop every day? Because who else would read what she wrote? Anonymous witches and wizards who existed only in her imagination and who would somehow (but _how?_) manage to read her messages? Or Severus and Harry, even though they were dead?

Maybe she only wrote to amuse her captors. But this was her only means of communication and she used it the best way she could.

**oooOooo**

Everyone – present and former students, teachers, parents, younger siblings – attended the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts. Severus called it a circus. No teacher disagreed with him and he barricaded himself in his office down in the dungeons.

**oooOooo**

On June 24, Hermione despaired.

She didn't know why on that day of all days. Giving up all hope certainly hadn't been on her to-do-list for the day. But it happened anyway.

She stared at the laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, ready to compose yet another message that no one would ever read.

_Only she couldn't._

For a while she sat and gazed at the keyboard, the screen, her fingers, her cursed hands. Finally she began to type. A list she had never made before.

_Best case scenario,_ she wrote. _Somehow Madame Dubois could be saved. Somehow Ron managed to Apparate Alina and Lois to safety. Somehow Ron survived. Somehow Severus and Harry didn't die. _

_Somehow they will find me._

Hermione looked at the list for a long time. She felt her heartbeat, slow and regular. She was so weary. Distantly, she heard the voices of the nuns, singing a hymn for their evening prayer. An odd sense of peace enveloped her.

She deleted the list and switched off the laptop without writing another word.

******oooOooo**

* * *

******A/N: **The title of the chapter refers to a quote by George Bernard Shaw: "It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace."


	247. Summer Sadness, Summer Joy

**Summer Sadness, Summer Joy**

In Fore Close, wizarding London, Severus Snape settled at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and eyed the cradle that held two identical, red-faced, dark-haired babies with apprehension. Lois and Alina sat next to them, both looking tired.

Lois smiled at him over the rim of her teacup. "Now that you've met the next generation of mischief-makers – how are you? Is there any news?"

Severus stared at the sleeping infants. The one on the left was drooling a little. It was hard to imagine that he'd face them in his dungeons in eleven years. They wouldn't even need the toy cauldrons he'd brought them for several years yet, he realised.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

How often had he given this answer during the last seventeen months? But before he could add anything, an unpleasant odour flowed through the room. The right baby opened his mouth, showing moist red gums and started whining.

"Oh, dear," Lois sighed. "I'm sorry, Severus, but I think Kuno needs to be changed … _again."_ She picked up the squalling baby and hurried away.

Alina wrinkled her nose. _"Mum says they stink worse than I did," _her quill scribbled. _"It's because they are two Weasleys, and she doesn't have enough milk for two of them. You _don't _want to see the mess they make …"_

Severus shuddered. After a few minutes, he wondered what was taking so long. Molly had returned to Order meetings almost instantly when one of her babies needed new nappies. _But of course _ – without magic, Lois had to do everything Muggle-style. Severus frowned. He knew what Hermione would do … But he didn't particularly care for Ronald Weasley. On the other hand, he _did_ like Lois.

"Winky!"

With a POP! the house-elf appeared, magnificent in starched lace-aprons. "Master Professor Sir has called?"

"Yes," Severus said curtly. "This is the home of Lois Petrel-Weasley, Ronald Weasley and their children. You know Miss Alina Petrel. And this is Mr. Hugo Weasley."

He indicated the baby. Awake now, Hugo was testing the full capacity of his tiny lungs with extraordinary success.

"Mrs. Petrel-Weasley is in the other room with his brother Kuno.  
"You need more work.  
"There's not much to do at Spinner's End. Therefore I want you to help out here. Mrs. Petrel is a Muggle, so she needs magic help with these babies."

Winky's eyes had started glowing the moment Severus uttered the words _'You need more work'._ Before Severus could finish, Winky was already cuddling Hugo and cooing to him.

**oooOooo**

At the end of July Severus had news.

… Abbé Nihel had discovered an American actress who was _'finding herself' _(and conveniently escaping bad publicity after a court-scandal because of drunk driving)in a luxuriously appointed hermitage of a Carthusian monastery in Spain.

**oooOooo**

The summer 2002 was very hot. The heat even seeped through the thick walls of Hermione's prison. Her cell turned into an oven as the tiny window allowed almost no breeze inside. Hermione rarely bothered with getting up and dressing anymore. Now and again she rose and staggered to the sink, sprinkling tepid water over her naked body.

Apart from that, she lay on her mattress and stared at the wall.

The wall was mostly white, with tiny grey and translucent grains interspersed in the stone. Slight shadows marked the traces where tools had cut and smoothed the rock.

Sometimes she dreamt of Severus.

**oooOooo**

In the middle of August, Abbé Nihel flushed out a group of fraudsters in Sicily. Importing cheap olive oil from Africa and selling it as expensive organic oil _'extra vergine'_ from the olive groves of the _Abbazia delle Colomba Bianca,_ they had made a fortune (especially thanks to generous subsidies of the European Union).

After that incident, the Abbé had to continue his investigations in France as the monks and nuns of Italian monasteries seemed suddenly disinclined to converse with him.

**oooOooo**

During that summer, Severus spent more time with babies than ever before in his life. Since he was still tutoring Alina, there was no away to avoid Hugo and Kuno. Then there was Draco's son, just starting to walk. While Scorpius was used to the ghost's icy touch by now, Draco preferred to have a living person nearby on visitation weekends – just in case.

And since Draco was painstakingly piecing together all evidence concerning the events that led to Hermione's capture, Severus spent as much time with Draco as possible; answering questions, reading old documents or drawing up Arithmantic diagrams, while he waited for the next message from Abbé Nihel.

Last but not least, as August went by, Severus couldn't help noticing that it must be just a matter of weeks until Ginny Potter would see to it that a new generation of Potters would eventually roam the grounds of Hogwarts and get on his nerves.

Sometimes Severus recalled how Hermione had shocked him with her announcement that she desired to conceive his child.

**oooOooo**

At the secret summer party of the Order of the Phoenix (a party that was such a conspiratorial occasion that the Daily Prophet ran feature about it on its front page) Lois handed Severus a baby before she went to hug Ginny. Squealing and giggling, the two women compared the sizes of their babies. At two and a half months, Kuno was visibly bigger than tiny James-Hermes, his ten days old cousin.

Meanwhile, Severus gingerly held a smiling, gurgling Hugo Weasley and couldn't help wondering what his and Hermione's children might have looked like.

**oooOooo**

Hermione never noticed how August turned to September, how first the start of a new school year at Hogwarts and then her birthday slipped by.

But it was not as hot as it had been, and her dreams grew quieter.

**oooOooo**

On September 22, Severus received an urgent Floo call from London.

When he burst into the office of the Minister of Magic, still brushing ashes from his robes, Abbé Nihel Servais Rigaud was already there, waiting for him.

"I think I have found her."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Since "Apprentice" is very much AU, names and birthdates of the children of Harry & co do not necessarily match canon or JKR's interviews.

Chapter 133 has the scene in which Hermione admits that she wants a baby with Severus.


	248. A Dream Within a Dream

**A Dream Within a Dream**

Abbé Nihel placed a few sheets of Muggle paper in front of Severus. "I printed this off a website. Do you know what that is?"

Severus nodded. "Her–" He cleared his throat. "Hermione explained it to me once. Muggle computers, connected to share information. – What has that to do with anything?"

The monk took a deep breath. "A lot. I hope! There is a monastery of Trappistine nuns in the south of France that was in the news for a while, oh, around two years ago. You have to know that the Trappistines submit to a strict atmosphere of silence in their monasteries. They use their voices only for praying, singing and reading the Bible."

"The perfect place to keep someone incommunicado," Harry observed. The Minister of Magic and the Head of the Auror Office looked confused. Father Brown sat motionless, shoulders tense, lips tightened. Severus paid no heed to that audience, his attention focused on the Abbé.

Nihel nodded. "This particular monastery roused public interest when they _'went online'_ – that is, created a website on the internet. People can send them requests for prayers. The nuns post these requests and their prayers online, on that website." He leafed through the papers. "Out of idle curiosity I looked at their archives. And I noticed something odd. The website, the requests, and the prayers are in French. But around 14 months ago, suddenly texts written in English appear. To someone with little knowledge of the language, they might appear to be prayers, but they are not. I am not exactly sure _what_ they are." His gaze, filled with warm concern, met Severus'. "But two motifs appear in nearly all of them: the writer talks about _breaking_ something and how that act _kills_ what he or she loves most of all."

With shaking hands, Severus reached for the stack of paper. Muggle paper was so thin and fragile compared to the parchment favoured in the wizarding world. The print was painfully clear.

**oooOooo**

_Oh God,_

_be merciful._

_But how could I hope for mercy.  
I broke the connection.__The connection, which should have been eternal.__  
My hands. My own hands.  
Not even splinters of wood are left.  
I killed what I love more than my life.  
Now I am imprisoned. In my guilt.  
Where will salvation come from?  
Neither magic nor miracle could ever set me free.  
My own attempts seem doomed and only drain me, fill me with despair.  
I can only hope that my cries for deliverance will be heard. _

_That one day I shall be forgiven and set free._

_Amen._

**oooOooo**

"The spell you wrought to lead you back to Life," Abbé Nihel prompted gently. "You called it _'Sempiternal Solution',_ didn't you?"

Severus could only nod. _Hermione. Alive. In a monastery. All this time. And blaming herself for his death. All this time._

"That just has to be Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "What do the other … _uh…_ prayers say?"

Abbé Nihel hesitated. "They are – very similar. I think some of them indicate attempts to escape." His gaze was sad, when he looked back at Severus. "In every possible way," he added softly.

Severus bent over the papers once more, his hair falling forward like a curtain and hopefully hiding his trembling lips. Carefully he read each text, searching for hidden meanings and secret messages.

At last he swallowed convulsively. He leant back in his chair and curled his fingers around the arm-rests in a vice-like grip to keep his hands from shaking. "I – do believe that my wife has written these." Severus inhaled a shuddering breath. "I noticed that the last of these texts is dated June 23. Where are the others?"

Abbé Nihel slowly shook his. "There are no more."

"She gave up?" Harry asked. His voice rang out, high with incredulity and tight with an almost accusatory undertone. "Just like that? That doesn't sound like the Hermione I know!"

"We have to go there," Severus whispered. "At once."

"As soon as the Aurors have secured the area," the Minister of Magic said with a firm voice.

**oooOooo**

Hermione was dreaming again.

She lay on her back in the water of a river that was somehow familiar – a shimmering expanse of water cradled between peaceful riverbanks. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of willows, alders and poplars, and sparkled in green and golden flecks on the brown water of the river. Water lilies and high stemmed lotus flowers grew along the banks, brilliant in their beauty.

The river meandered, turning west towards the sunset. The trees grew high and narrow there. They slanted towards each other until they formed a living gate.

When she looked back, the river was hidden in swirling mists. For a moment she thought she could see faces hidden in the haze, and hear an echo of dear voices. From somewhere the scent of roses drifted towards her. But the currents carried her onwards and she turned her head again.

The gate lay clear and golden before her.

At a distance, but not too far ahead, she could make out the silhouettes of two water birds: A black swan and a white swan drifted side by side, necks entwined. Set aflame by the westering sun behind them, the faint fusion of their bodies broke into light.

Hermione reached out with her fingertips, intent on touching them.

A silky voice caressed her. How she had missed his voice!

"Hermione."

In her dream, Severus pulled her into his arms. She inhaled deeply, the ever tantalising scents of vetyver, bergamot, nutmeg, rosemary and cypress. She could feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, the touch of his hands on her skin.

"So this is death," she murmured. Her voice sounded hoarse and harsh after months of silence. But she smiled. "Dumbledore was wrong, you know. It's not an adventure. It's the most beautiful dream I've ever had."

"This is not a dream, Hermione. And you are _not_ dying. Please," Severus begged, "open your eyes. _Please."_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **Although not even the Trappistines take a formal vow of silence, there are a few monasteries left where communication in daily life is conducted with sign language, while the spoken word is reserved for prayer, lecture, and the singing of hymns. And there is a monastery somewhere in Italy where the strict observance of silence was lifted for the internet.

The river and the swans already appeared in chapters 137 and 146.

The scene, as it is written in this chapter, contains textual allusions to the following poems:

"Naming The Stars" by Joyce Sutphen,  
"Stars, Songs, Faces" by Carl Sandburg and  
"Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam" by Ernest Dowson.

The title of this chapter refers to a quote from Edgar Allan Poe: "All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream."


	249. The Questions that Remain

**The Questions that Remain**

"How is Hermione?" Draco asked.

Severus hesitated. _How could three simple words pose such a difficult question? _

On the yeti skin in front of the fireplace Scorpius was playing with colourful Muggle-style building blocks, gurgling happily away in a language that only he and Professor Flitwick seemed to understand.

Severus recalled how Hermione had opened her eyes those four short weeks ago.

_He pleaded with her, promised her that she wasn't dreaming, that neither he nor she were dead or dying. Her eyes, brown and beautiful, were just like he remembered them, though huge in a too thin, too pale face. But when she looked at him, he couldn't tell if she really saw him at all, if she was awake and aware. _

_Or if she was broken beyond healing. _

_He gathered her up into his arms. She felt almost like a bird in his arms, hollow-boned and fragile. At least her hair was as it had always been, incredibly brown and bushy. And although it was matted and tangled, it smelt of his Hermione._

Severus exhaled. A carefully controlled measure of breath. "As well as can be expected, I'm told."

Healers had taken turns. And at Lois' insistence Hermione was seeing a Muggle therapist as well.

A translucent eyebrow rose questioningly. "And what do _you _think?"

"What do I think?" Severus sat down heavily. "She tries so hard," he whispered. "Too hard, I think. At night she clings to me and she doesn't sleep. She's tries to keep it from me, but I know she is scared of each morning when I have to leave for class." A brooding silence followed. "She won't touch a wand. I'm not sure if she will ever be able to use one again."

"It must please you to know that the ringleader has reaped his just rewards and is rotting away in Azkaban."

Severus snorted. "And he the one who insisted that they do not kill Hermione outright, as it turns out. – Two dead, three in Azkaban, two escaped, nine thugs in Muggle prisons. Compared to the number of people they killed and the lives they ruined, the term _'justice'_ seems hardly applicable."

Draco gave his inimitable ghostly shrug, shrinking a little, swelling a little. "I find that such things do not bother me anymore. Or at least not the way they did, once upon a time. Sufficient unto one life is the evil thereof." He smiled wryly. "As a matter of fact, I have it here now, the whole story. Everything put together, as best as I was able."

He pointed at a neat stack of parchments, ready to be bound into a booklet. "This is the gist of 17 scrolls, 31 sheets of parchment and nine boxes of assorted bits and pieces on the wizarding side of things, as well as 27 folders and 42 cdr on the Muggle side." Draco cocked his head. "Do you want to read it?"

Severus regarded the documents for a long moment.

What could Draco's summary tell him that he didn't already know? But he reached for the parchments nevertheless …

**oooOooo**

Everything had started with Umbridge's petty viciousness and vindictiveness. When she set out to get back at him after the war.

First she had manipulated the Wizarding Genealogies to send him to Azkaban. Then she had gathered the remaining Death Eaters around her, intent on rising as their new Dark Lady. To her, Voldemort was only yet another half-blooded nebbish.

Due to the most horible stroke of dumb luck ever recorded in the history of magic, she had stumbled over the Resurrection Stone while she was out hunting jarveys for her precious perfume in the Forbidden Forest. After that, gaining the ownership of the Elder Wand had been her highest priority and sadly, her greatest success.

What not even Sybill Trelawney's gifted great-great-grandmother could have foreseen, was the involvement of the rogue Necromancers of the Inquisition. Brought into contact with Umbridge due to Minister Shacklebolt's ill-fated idea of a practical office-joke, they had discovered Umbridge's plans and approached her with a plan of killing all Muggle-born witches and wizards. Driven by her hatred for all half-bloods and half-breeds, Umbridge had been more than happy to strike a deal with them. Only in the end not even the death of thousands of innocents had been enough to satisfy her. She had wanted more: influence, riches, power, absolute control. Over the living as well as the dead.

Without the knowledge of her new allies, Umbridge had managed to manipulate the Leeching Curse and in her ignorance almost destroyed the whole world.

When the Necromancers of the Inquisition had realised that Umbridge was using the power she had gained from their _'business association'_ to create _Inferi,_ they had decided that she must be stopped. And they _had_ stopped her. Quickly, effectively.

But unfortunately they had still hoped to salvage their original plan at that time: to use the upheavals and the division of the wizarding world to accomplish what the original _Pacta Maleficarum Segregandarum_ had failed to bring about – namely, to stop the sin of magic from spreading among Muggles once and for all.

**oooOooo**

_And Hermione?_

She was only alive at all thanks to a conversation about angels in a Muggle bookshop that had lasted all of five minutes. But which had somehow convinced the ringleader of the Necromancers that maybe, just maybe, her immortal soul could still be saved.

No archival documentation could ever answer the questions that remained at this point.

_How to cope. How to move on._

Severus wasn't sure if it was possible to truly _save_ Hermione. But she was alive, and she was with him. And he'd be damned if he gave up now.

"Where there's life, there's hope," Severus muttered, scowling at Draco's parchments.

"And where there's death, there's at least an opportunity for a great party at the wake," Draco quipped. "Or a cheap employee for the Ministry." Serious once more, he added, "Please, give my best wishes to Hermione."

**oooOooo**


	250. The Heart of the Labyrinth

**The Heart of the Labyrinth**

Severus woke with a start. For the fraction of a heartbeat he couldn't tell what had disturbed him. Then he realised that Hermione was sitting next to him, on the edge of the mattress near his bedside table. Her hand outstretched, she trailed a trembling finger along one of his wands. His left wand, bright birchwood with the wisdom of a sphinx feather at the core.

"Go ahead," he murmured. "Take it. They are yours as much as they are mine."

He hardly dared to breathe, hope's painful pressure squeezing his heart. For a moment Hermione appeared to hesitate, her hand hovering over his wands. But then she just silently shook her head, rose to her feet, padded around the bed and lay down again.

**oooOooo**

In December heavy snows and icy temperatures turned Hogwarts into a winter wonderland. For once ice-skating was more popular than Quidditch among the few students who remained at the school for the holidays. On the edge of the Forbidden Forest Hagrid and Grawp built a labyrinth of snow. Professor Flitwick added the final flourishes, little niches with ice-sculptures of magical creatures and cosy igloos with bear and yeti skins spread out on the floor.

Hermione sat in the private library in the dungeons, staring out of the window. Already the sun was setting. The torches around the skating area and the labyrinth glittered like blue stars in the distance.

Her book rested forgotten on her lap. Crookshanks and one of the younger cats, a tom that looked like a grey and orange striped mop, lay curled up in the other chair. In the fireplace a tiny purple salamander gambolled in the flames.

Severus should return from his private lessons with Alina soon. Now in her fourth year, Alina managed keep up with her classmates despite her disabilities. But in September Severus had given Alina a new book, a grimoire bound in green leather, with tarnished silver clasps. _The Book of the Dead._ It was time for Alina to master Necromancy.

Hermione sighed. _Why, oh why is it so difficult to be back? _

She bit down on her lip. _It shouldn't be like that!_ Not with Severus and Harry, Alina, Lois and Ron _alive!_ Certainly, none of them were unscathed. But _all of them_ were back to living their lives, and yes, they _were_ happy. Hermione _knew_ that. She just had to look at them! Lois and Ron with their twins. Harry and Ginny and James-Hermes. She wrinkled her nose at that name. _Her poor godson …_

Hermione rubbed her aching forehead. She still couldn't bring herself to touch a wand. Her apprenticeship had ended while she was imprisoned, and she knew that she would never take the exams that would make her a Potions journeywoman now. Most days even her quiet, Muggle-style job at the library was too much for her.

She hated silence, but she couldn't cope with noise at all. Worse, it seemed impossible to speak aloud what was on her mind – her thoughts, her feelings. Sometimes she felt as robbed of speech as Alina.

**oooOooo**

The door opened quietly. Hermione turned and watched as Severus entered, sombre as always when he returned from the lessons with Alina.

Black hair; limp, lank, a bit too long. (It looked worse after a day spent in the fumes of his classroom.) Eyes black as coal. She met his gaze. His eyes lit up with an inner fire that caused a jolt of electricity to sizzle through the pit of her stomach. Those thin, sensitive, kissable lips. Bitter lines around the mouth, a sharp crease between the brows. His cheekbones stood out – he was still too thin. And then that proud beak of a nose.

_He is not dead. He is alive. _Her heart was pounding, sharp palpitations that made her shudder. Her eyes prickled. _Alive. Alive!_

"How about a walk?" Severus asked gently. "You shouldn't sit cooped up inside all day."

"All right." Her smile trembled on her lips.

Sometimes the walls of Hogwarts crushed her with their weight until she was close to screaming with claustrophobia. Ironically, being outside didn't help. There, she felt too small, too exposed, too helpless.

"Hermione?" He took her hands and drew her close against him. "What is it?"

She looked up. His gaze was tender with concern. She opened her mouth – but once again words failed her. Mutely, she shook her head, ashamed of her tears.

**oooOooo**

Outside the night was closing in, freezing midwinter blackness flowing from hills and glens. But bundled up in winter cloaks, scarves and bonnets, the cold barely touched them. The bright windows of the castle, as well as the lanterns lining their path kept the darkness at bay.

"Come." Severus held his hand out to Hermione. "Let's walk the labyrinth together."

Hermione shuddered, but she took her husband's hand. Snow crunched under their steps and the sound of laughter drifted up from the lake. Hand in hand they entered the wintry walls of the maze. The ice glowed green and blue around them, illuminated by magical torches.

Their path was slippery. Many feet had worn away the snow, leaving behind glistening ice. They stumbled and skidded. Hermione grabbed at Severus to keep herself from falling. Then Severus slipped and they landed in a heap, laughing and breathless.

At last they came to the centre of the labyrinth. Professor Flitwick had decorated it with an ice sculpture, too: a rose in full bloom.

Hermione inhaled deeply, once, twice, three times. The freezing air burnt her throat and lungs. "I remember Chartres," she said at last. "The flower of life, you called it. God at the centre. Or the blossom of magic. A pilgrimage towards enlightenment – _and salvation." _

"To the heart of the labyrinth," Severus whispered. "Can you see it, Hermione? We have reached it."

Hermione lifted her head. Caught in her husband's embrace, within high walls of ice and under a wide, starlit winter sky, she suddenly felt free.

She smiled. "And I'm still singing."

**oooOooo**

* * *

**A/N: **This final chapter brings us (nearly) full circle back to Severus' and Hermione's honeymoon in Chartres in chapter 74, where they walked the labyrinth, too.

Hermione's last words allude to the short passage by Orson Welles quote from his last movie "F for Fake" that Severus quoted to Hermione in Chartres: "A fact of life … we're going to die. _'Be of good heart,' _cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced – but what of it? Go on singing."

**And:** Even though this story is finished, I still enjoy hearing what you think about it.

What did you like? What did you hate? What made you smile? What made you cry? What are the most memorable moments?

Drop me a line and let me know! And if you have nothing to say about _my_ story, maybe leave a comment for another story? Comments are the only remuneration that fanfic writers receive and all of us cherish them.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	251. Epilogue – Da Capo Al Fine

**Epilogue – Da Capo Al Fine** **  
**

"Ginny sent new pictures of James-Hermes. And Harry threatens to _err…_" Hermione blushed.

"Hex my bollocks off and serve them to me for lunch if we don't attend the very same occasion next Sunday?" Severus supplied with a snort.

Hermione laughed. "Something like that."

"All right. We'll be there. Now, where are those ridiculous plants that you absolutely have to show me?"

"Here." Hermione pointed at a meadow overflowing with blooming daffodils. "Look how many of them there are! Do you remember what that means?"

Of course he did. He would never forget their wedding day. "Joy and happiness," he replied, his voice very soft.

"One day," Hermione said, her eyes filled with quiet determination, "maybe not tomorrow or next week …"

How Severus regretted the lines in her young face. How he mourned the lack of sparkle in her eyes. The absence of the shrill lilt of enthusiasm in her voice.

"… maybe not even next year." She offered him a wry smile.

But she reached for him. Her almost spidery thin, always cold fingers curled around his hand. Her smile turned wistful. It was too bitter yet to be called hopeful, but there was a new hint of sweetness to it that had been missing since her rescue.

Hermione stepped into Severus' embrace, her face turned up, her eyes never leaving his. "But I _do_ believe that one day, one day, we'll be fine."

She drew his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers.

_"Just fine."_

**oooOooo**

* * *

**FINITE INCANTATEM**

* * *

**oooOooo**

**P.S.: **Hermione** –** as the resident know-it-all **– **was right of course. Eventually, they _were_ fine, just fine, and they lived (mostly) happily ever after.

**P.P.S.: **"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." **–** Dr. Seuss

**P.P.P.S.:** As always, thank you for reading and for your many kind, interesting and encouraging comments that accompanied each episode of this crack!fic turned virtual penny dreadful. It was a long, wild ride, and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

...

...

...

... yes. There _may_ be a sequel.

... okay. _Cough._ There _is_ a sequel. If you're interested, take a peek at _"The Book of the Dead"._

**ETA: **A "mature"-rated, illustrated multi-media edition of this story is available at my website:

juno-magic. fancrone. net/blog/the-apprentice-and-the-necromancer (take out the spaces)


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